Hogwarts A History Of
by YaoiCookie
Summary: "It's a dangerous game you're thinking of Christie," she spoke to herself. With a grin, she stood to undress. "But aren't those always the best ones?" Slash, Fem-Slash, other warnings inside
1. Chapter 1

**Notes:** Christie is my favorite DOA character and there simply aren't enough stories out there about her. I especially love the new look she's getting for DOA 5! -Dances a jig- Hopefully, someone out there will get hooked on the game and start writing some Bayman x Christie stories, as they are my OTP for this section.

**Warnings:** Story is Christie and Harry centric, sometimes focusing on one more than the other. Slash, Fem-Slash, Threesomes, Bayman x Christie, Helena x Christie, Harry in said threesome relationship with not saying, GoodButNotPerfect!Dumbles, lack of character bashing

**About the Author('s feelings on the characters DOA):** Yeah, I don't really like the other characters of DOA, mainly because they get way too much attention, but you will see them eventually pop up. If you're hoping for a Kasumi sighting, however...Ha...keep dreaming; I absolutely loathe her. Don't get me wrong, she's cute and nice and all, but I can't stand the sight of her. Tecmo made me hate her, seriously. Too much of a good thing and all that.

* * *

If it weren't for the money, Christie knew she would have balked.

Solitary was a word that definitely described the assassin who had taken great pride in hiding away from the world. Christie had no choice, after all, considering her career, but she reveled in the solitude. All she had for company was Sugar, her pet panther and only friend, the only one who would never betray her trust. Thus, she had been surprised to find Sugar eating an owl one day, especially as she was on her Yacht in the middle of the ocean. It took her a long while to remember just who used owls and why they'd send one to her.

Thus, she'd had to find the letter that the dead owl had thankfully dropped before meeting its end, only for a pounding headache to come on at once. Calfskin parchment, black ink, a begging plea for forgiveness; her family had found her. For a long time, Christie had refused to respond, letting the next owls meet their demise at Sugar's jaws, until one letter caught her attention and made her teeth clench. It was from her older sister, who expressed disappointment at her career choice (they _knew_!) and who pleaded at her to visit them so they could talk.

Unfortunately for Christie, her family also knew her well enough to know that to get her to visit would mean paying. Unfortunately for them, she wasn't a cheap price, especially when she had to give up everything just to visit. Her cars, her boats, her televisions, her missions, et cetera. Now that her family knew that she was an assassin, she really had no excuse to not visit; the pay certainly wasn't the real reason she'd changed her mind. Regardless of which, she still took a minute to refresh her magical studies, especially her Occlumency; she had to order a book to refresh her memory.

Magic indeed.

Despite denying their existence as they did hers, Christie came from a long line of witches and wizards. For years they'd been content to allow her freedom, now they missed her terribly? Keeping tabs on her even? Of course they wanted her back, now that she was a successful person; not that she cared what they thought. She despised magic users, despised them so much that she'd even forsaken her family visit to instead go to her cousin, who bid three dollars higher than her mother.

But other people didn't matter, because most other people weren't near Squibs readying themselves to go back to everything that hated them.

Christie sighed and sipped her V8. On the plane to England, all sorts of past grievances had flown through her mind as she recalled her childhood. She remembered how inept she was at magic, bumbling behind her ashamed and Pure-blooded family who talked slowly to her as though she were an idiot. Then there was her letter to Hogwarts, which everyone had thought was a fluke, and it had taken a personal meeting with the headmaster before her mother had even taken her to Diagon Alley. Even then, the little pride she had felt had died when she'd gotten her wand.

"Birch Wood, thirteen inches, Eagle Owl feathered core," the wand seller had paused, a pitying look coming to his face. "Not one of our, er, strongest wands…" The shame on her mother's face, the blank look of disappointment on her father's, the pity of her sister; Christie had broken the wand then and there, then stormed out of the store, vowing to become a person that she could take pride in. Vowing to be better than her magical family, to be better without magic.

Her mother, of course, had tried to force her to go to Hogwarts, but Christie had runaway the moment she'd gotten to Hogsmeade. She couldn't take the shame of going to a school with such strong children, her sister as well, and getting laughed at behind her back. It wasn't until a week had passed did anyone even realize that she was serious, which did nothing to help her self-esteem. From then on, the white haired, magically weak witch had stopped believing in things like love and family. Her mother had even caved and finally, reluctantly, grudgingly put her to Muggle, normal school.

"Not like I gave her much of a choice," Christie growled, squeezing her empty V8 and carelessly tossing it. Her family had only proved that they didn't care for her daily as they ignored her entirely, not bothering to ask how she was doing, often forgetting her birthday, even whispering about some guy they called You-Know-Who who had been terrorizing the world then. At the age of fifteen, after the killing had calmed down considerably in the magical world, knowing enough about the normal world and with a low income job, Christie had runaway for the last time, her family not even bothering to look for the disgrace again.

Of course, a girl with no background, a low level education, and rather snotty and pretty wasn't going to blend in with the underground world. The first few years of life had been hell, but she'd learned. Oh, how she had learned; and the assassin that had taught her was still the only person she felt had ever truly loved her.

"Taxi!" Christie waved her hand, seeing a yellow cab slowly rounding the airport. Memories swimming darkly through her head, she entered the cab and told the driver her location, regally sitting in her seat. Though she didn't want to, she had promised her cousin they'd meet at the Leaky Cauldron. Her cousin that didn't know about her family also paying her, her cousin that didn't know she went three dollars higher, and who didn't know that Christie had accepted both of their money and only intended to meet with one person. With a sigh, she let herself droop, her constant headache returning.

"This…will be a long visit."


	2. Chapter 2

Before I continue on with this story, let me just say that this one is **not** up for adoption. Yes, that was read right; Any story of mines that lacks the adoption warning in chapter one is not up for adoption. PERIOD.

**Poll Alert:** Speaking of my stories and their adoptions, a new poll is out that allows readers to vote on which of my stories will be continued and whether or not I should continue posting new fics up in the meantime! Yup, I'm considering it. Won't do it if there's not much demand for it though, so viggity vote!

**About the Author****('s feelings on the price of DOA5)**: FUCKING FUCK! (Which sums up everyone's feelings nicely, I'm sure!) I hate the prices! Good God, I really wanted to buy the game, but it looks like I'll be waiting to get them second hand. It's not even worth it to pay the extra 20 bucks for the Collector's Edition! -smh- What I'm really disappointed in, is that they're still just focusing on the girls; Everyone knows that Kasumi and Ayane will get the most scandalous outfits, and that DOA is all about servicing the fans of those two mostly -Ayane fan here-, but there are some dedicated gays, straights and bisexual DOA female gamers out there wanting to see a little more leg on the men!

Or a little more outfits on the other women! CHRISTIE NEEDS BETTER OUTFITS DAMN IT! SHE'S ONE OF THE MOST UNAPPRECIATED-Ugh! WHY DO I EVEN BOTHER? SHEESH.

...-Sighs and goes to pinching pennies-...

*Any player of MMO Games that plays as Shooters or Magic Users should know the value of being surrounded by Meat Shields. This sentence won't make sense if you haven't read the asterisk leading to this point in the story. xP

* * *

It took her nine minutes to get out of the cab.

With a snort the driver sped off, leaving Christie standing on the side of the sidewalk with a bag and a cross look on her face. The only satisfaction she had gotten from that ride was that the euros she gave him were all counterfeits. Christie sighed and crossed her arms, ignoring the looks sent her way from passerby's. She was wearing her black leather two piece with blue flames on it. Under her small open tank jacket was a black bra; normally she wouldn't bother wearing anything beneath it, but having to deal with the cops at a time like this would not do for her mood.

"I forgot how cold London can be," she murmured, the smallest of shivers leaving her as she started towards the barely see-able Leaky Cauldron, her bag knocking into her mid-stride. "And how wet." She sent a scowl to the sky as the dark clouds gathered above her head. Of all the places she had to travel back to…Ignoring the startled gasps around her, she vanished from normal view, stepping into the magical pub of London. It was as busy as she could remember it being, though less wary. _I guess the war ended then._

"May I help you?" A man, unfamiliar to her, stepped in her path. He had a nervous look on his face, the same look Lady Maple, the previous landlady had when Christie had come to the inn on her own before. It was a nervous look, a look that questioned how a normal person managed to enter a magical place. After all, given her dress and her weak magic, she didn't appear magical at all. It wasn't a much known fact, but magic called out to magic; many magical people could spot a normal person because they _felt_ normal.

"I'm here for a room," Christie stated simply, ignoring his shock with years of experience. She'd long since gotten use to this and long learned how to bury the burning anger that such a thing use to cause. The man froze awkwardly, unconsciously searching for the pull of her magic, then obviously, inwardly came to the conclusion that she was a Squib. Christie resisted the urge to kick him, Tom he'd introduced himself, as she acquired a room.

"Christie," she stated to the quill, rolling her eyes as at the obvious display of magic as it sat up and wrote it down. What was so hard about writing down her name by hand? And why did they still use quills and parchment anyway? "One week," she continued, ignoring the odd looks people were sending to her clothes. As far as she was concerned, they looked like the strange ones.

"That will be seventy galleons," Tom stated. "Ten for each night."

"Bullshit," she snorted, sending the man a glare. He paled at her look, taking a step back and faltering. Christie was no fool, however, and she did not appreciate what he just tried to pull. "This dusty place can't possibly be that high and if you try to overcharge me again I'll leave your body for the crows to find. Now, how much for a week, without your disgusting food?"

"S-seven galleons," he choked out, a bead of sweat going down his brow. With a snort, Christie tossed the coins on the counter, mentally thanking her cousin for telling her the price ahead of time. She'd also sent Christie the money, which is how she knew that this Tom was harshly judging her; ignorant magical folks, they hadn't changed a bit. Tom slid her key across the counter top, avoiding her grey eyes as he gave her, her room number.

"Don't bother serving me food," Christie stated darkly, knowing that the gossiping magical population were listening in on the conversation. They'd been surprised, no doubt, that she had figured out the man's ploy; he'd probably done it so many times before. "With how disgusting your attitude is, I'm pretty sure the food is equally as rancid; as expected of magic folk." With a sniff, she headed up to room seven, ignoring the sputters behind her back.

It was a dangerous game she was playing at, insulting a room full of magical people, but Christie knew what she was doing. Prejudice hadn't changed in the years since she'd left and she still recalled how badly people use to walk over her. With her magic dormant and low, people figured she was a Squib, and a Squib was never treated with respect unless they showed a backbone. Otherwise the Pure-bloods would try to walk over her, overprice her, run her out; even the supposed _Light_ families.

Every Pure-blooded magical family, whether they believed it or not, looked down on those without magic or weak magic. Sometimes they'd simply ignore the person in question, pity them, or in some cases dispose of them. Her family had been the type to stare down at her in pity and disappointment, as though because she had little magic her life was worthless. She'd let them then, became ashamed of herself, weak willed and worthless, outcast, overpriced, unappreciated.

"Not this time," Christie muttered to herself, opening her room and looking around in distaste. It looked normal, yet also magical. No hints of technology, but candles everywhere. "I'm not as dumb as I was then; no way in hell will these wizard bastards walk all over me again."

"That's the spirit!" The voice came from the direction of a full length mirror, making her jump slightly. "Show them what you've got, girl!" Christie stared at the mirror for a long moment, slightly horrified at the thought of sharing a room, even if it was an inanimate object. She'd forgotten about that, about how magical people changed perfectly ordinary things and tried to pass it off as their own inventions.

"Talking inanimate objects," she shook her head and tossed her bag on the floor. "If I'm not careful, I'll begin to think I'm crazy." With a sigh, she sat down on her bed. Working in the Dead or Alive Tournament, Christie had been amazed to see such obvious signs of magic in the Douglas family and Donovan's creations, but they hadn't been as simple as this. In fact, they'd used normal things more than magic, combining it with science and making something entirely new out of it.

Of course, even magic couldn't produce a room full of Kasumi's. "The Ultimate Fighters," Donovan had said. He hadn't liked it when Christie had told him he was obsessed with the girl for more than her skills.

"Thirteen years since I've been in Magical England…And I still have nothing good to think about it." Christie shook her head and rummaged through her bag, carefully setting aside her guns that she'd smuggled over and getting out her books on Occlumency. As much as she didn't want to brush up on her meager magical skills, she was no fool. Some people could read minds; No way in hell would she even chance hers. "The Guide to Occluding Your Mind, Volume One; Clear Thoughts. In this chapter we…"

By the time nightfall had come, Christie was through with half of the book. Mainly because she'd skimmed past all of the non-related crap they'd tossed into the pages; Why did she care about why Occluding was invented and how the name came to be? And why did there have to be five chapters dedicated to it? With a shake of her head she stood and cracked her stiff bones, her stomach rumbling. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of magical food, pumpkins and so many sweets it'd make a natural lover hate candy for life.

"Maybe I should get some Italian?" She questioned the air, checking to make sure she had her money and a concealed weapon. With that in order, she left the room and locked her door, sidestepping Tom and a boy with messy black hair and thick glasses.

"Ah, Miss Christie…" Tom stopped nervously, his Adam's Apple bobbing as he swallowed. "Have you changed your mind about food?"

"No." Christie shook her head at him in obvious disgust. "I'm going into London for a bite to eat; kindly clean up my room, it's a bit dusty. Oh, and," she stared him in the eyes, her own narrowing. "_Don't_ touch my things." Without waiting for a reply she headed off, ignoring the blushing kid staring at her back. Unfortunately, her cool exit was ruined by the cool air outside, making her groan as she realized she would have to shop. Being around magic was making her forget a lot of obvious things and she was not happy to be reminded of such a fact.

The simple outing for a bite to eat turned into a hunt for a lack of products. Clothes, hair brush, tooth paste, snacks, and other things she'd forgotten joined her Italian dinner, making her grumble as she made her way back to the pub two hours after leaving it. The peaceful atmosphere she'd left had changed, full of whispers as the words "Black" and "You-Know-Who" were constantly thrown about, each with an interesting tinge of fear.

Christie's eyes caught a glimpse of a scraggly looking man moving about on a newspaper before she headed up the stairs. She frowned slightly, recalling a television in the normal world displaying the same man and issuing a flee on sight order. Seems the magical world had screwed up and unleashed their problems on the normal one. Why was she unsurprised? _Useless bastards…_

"Excuse me?" The voice startled her, making Christie frown slightly. Was she losing her touch? She didn't like the thought of magic being able to unnerve her so much, but she was never one to hide from the truth, especially when it concerned her. Magic was making her nervous and edgy, her own feelings weren't helping in that matter. Years of being an assassin had taught her to always be on alert and she hadn't been; that could have cost her. Vowing not to do it again, Christie turned to the speaker, slightly irritated at herself.

"Yes?" It was the young boy from earlier. He blushed and determinedly stared at her face, obviously not use to having someone proud of their body flaunt it.

"Erm, do you know tonight's meal?"

"No," she snapped, biting her lips afterwards as the boy winced. Softer voice, acting skills coming into play, she continued. "I bought my own meal, considering The Leaky Cauldron would never make something as simple and good as Italian food."

"Oh…" He trailed off uncomfortably, giving Christie some time to calm herself.

"You know, kid…" She stared at him, a wrinkle of distaste coming to her face as she looked at his clothes. He flushed, obviously catching it and he nervously pat down his hair. "You shouldn't eat what's here, anyway. I bet it's something with a side effect you could do without before bed. Just ask your parents to, ah," she rolled her eyes condescendingly, "_brave_ the normal world and get you something to eat." The boy flinched.

"I don't…" He muttered. "I'm here alone." No parents then.

"Then leave on your own." She shrugged. "This decrepit place is surrounded by many good shops that sell much better, practical and healthy food." The boy opened his mouth, then closed it again, adjusting his broken glasses over bright green eyes. "Out with it," Christie sniffed, her patience wearing thin quickly. This boy, whoever he was, had a lot of magic; she was not jealous, but she wasn't pleased to be in his company neither.

"I-I don't have any Muggle money," he explained, obviously regretting risking nerves to talk to her. Christie resisted the urge to hiss at him in disgust. _Damn fool wizards. Never thinking of the other side, only of themselves and the magic around them._

"Then go to the bank and exchange some galleons for pounds," she explained impatiently. The boy looked at her blankly, obviously not having come to that conclusion himself, and Christie had to resist the urge to snap his neck. As much pleasure as it would bring to kill off a wizard, even one so young, the consequences weren't worth it. Besides, she'd promised her cousin that she'd at least try to behave towards children.

Adults were fair game.

The boy's face reddened as his stomach suddenly gargled, making him sheepishly scratch at his head. He tried to give a flimsy excuse to leave and head for dinner that went ignored as the white haired assassin breathed in deeply. An idea was forming in her mind, one that her cousin would have tried to smack her for, yet she couldn't help but feel for the pull his magic gave for one final conformation. Power. A taint of darkness. She interrupted whatever it was he was stuttering out. "You hungry, runt?"

"My name's not runt!" He snapped at once, flushing further under her raised brow as his excuses dropped. "My name's Harry…" He trailed off, his mouth thinning as he quickly pat down his hair. "My name's Harry," he repeated firmly, looking at her expectantly.

"Right, Harry," Christie held out a hand and introduced herself, resisting the childish urge to rub her hands clean afterwards. "I'm afraid I can't allow you into my room, but perhaps I can share a meal with you in the pub downstairs?" Harry perked up slightly, disbelief written on his face as she jingled her bag. Why would a stranger wish to share with him, after all? Once again, he pat down his hair, then shot her a suspicious look.

"Why?" He wondered, a slightly bitter lilt to his voice.

"You _don't_ have to eat with me," Christie pointed out, a frown of annoyance crossing her face. Harry ducked his head and apologized, leaving them in an awkward silence. "Just wait here a second," Christie sighed, breaking the silence as she got her key out her pocket and went to her room. She tossed her bags on the bed and peered around, checking to see if it had been dusted. It had, making her eyes narrow in thought. "Hey, mirror?" She called out, wondering if the idea would work. "Have you seen any other reflection besides mine's since I've left?"

"Oh, yes dear!" The mirror answered eagerly, it's surface lighting up and showing Tom using magic to dust the room. The image sped up at her request, showing that that was all the man had done. Once it ended, Christie nodded in satisfaction, then paused awkwardly. Did the mirror count as a person? Did it have…feelings? It was such a silly question to think, but what if it resented her if she mistreated it?

"…Thanks," she finally ventured, a bit hesitant. Did it expect a thank you?

"You're welcome, gorgeous!" Well, it seemed happy. Deciding to put the strange moment behind her, and swearing to never speak of it to another soul, Christie relocked her door and turned back to Harry. The boy was looking at her in amazement, green eyes wide in disbelief.

"I…" He trailed off, getting a questioning hum from her. "I never would have thought of something like a mirror to tell you if anyone was in the room," he admitted quietly.

"Of course you wouldn't have," Christie resisted the urge to scoff, though her voice was a bit condescending. "Most wizards lack common sense. It's a given. Besides, I doubt you've ever been robbed at an inn before; I have, so I'm more cautious." It wasn't a lie either. In her early days, she'd often fallen for police tricks, though thankfully she had been smart enough to get out of them. Even these days there were times when the police were on her trail, not that they often stayed that way.

"I don't lack common sense," Harry stated dryly, following her down the stairs. The white haired woman didn't respond to that, though she wanted to point out that he was following a stranger without a real reason. Didn't lack her ass. Once in the pub she headed to an empty table in the middle of the room; Most assassins, and even ninja, would have chosen a seat where they could watch all exits. She preferred a seat in an area with shields surrounding her.*

So what if they were human?

"So, runt," Christie placed the plastic containers of food she had out on the table, ignoring his hiss at the name as she dug out a plastic fork and eyed it in distaste. "From which barrier do you hail?" Harry stared at her in confusion, accepting his own container and fork as she took out bottles of soda. "Do you live in the normal world or the magical one?" She rephrased, sending a dark scowl to a man that was staring at them.

"Oh! I'm from the Muggle world," he stated, popping open his food and missing the frown she gave. Christie was glad that she'd gotten two meals, though a bit upset that she had to go and get breakfast because of this.

"Why do you call it the Muggle world?" She wondered blandly, getting a look of confusion from him. "Plan on living amidst magic for the rest of your life?" At his nod, she snorted and took a bite of lasagna, mentally reviewing the taste. "It figures," she muttered.

"What's so wrong with living in the magical world?" Harry questioned warily, taking a breadstick and biting into it. His eyes lit at the taste.

"Aside from all the prejudice?" Christie deadpanned. Harry blushed. "Of course, you probably don't see much is wrong with it, considering you've got quite the bit of magic in you." Her eyes narrowed on him and he nervously picked at his food, tensing slightly. "For those of us who aren't so…_blessed_," she sneered darkly, "we don't have the privilege of living our lives happily here."

"What do you mean?" He wondered.

"I mean that most magical people are bastards," she explained, a look of annoyance on her face. The lasagna was a bit too chewy, but that could have been because it had gotten cold. The salad wasn't bad though. "Like the barkeep, Tom, he tried to charge me seventy galleons for a one week stay here."

"Seventy?" A look of surprise came to his face. "Impossible!"

"Well, I'm not very magical, am I?" She questioned darkly. "So the first thought that comes to mind is, _why is she here? _Then comes the next question, _how do I get rid of her?_ I've dealt with it most of my life, so I'm pretty sure I know what I'm talking about," she snapped to his disbelieving face. He looked ashamed, some sort of memory passing through his head, before he sighed.

"Well, not all of the magical world is bad…" His nose twisted.

"Give me some examples then." Christie raised her brow as he shot her an incredulous look. "Go ahead," she encouraged. "Give me some examples and I'll prove to you that this world isn't as great as you think it is." A frown touched his lips and he leaned his elbows on the table, his head going into his hands.

"Well," he began. "The school is brilliant. We learn all sorts of magic, like Transfiguration, and the food is amazing. The animals are fun to learn about too…sometimes…" He muttered. "Also, Quidditch is a fun sport and…well, magic is…"

"Hmm," Christie let the noise escape her throat, knowing the exact reasons he was floundering and amused at the look of annoyance on his face. She absently took another bite of her breadstick, waiting to see if he had anything else to say. He didn't. "Well," she stated, opening a can of cola. "I'll admit that knowing you can actually see a dragon is rather amazing, but you don't really seem to know why you like magic so much." He flushed. "I'm sure I can give you all the reasons why you do, and plenty of reasons why I don't."

"Okay," he nodded, taking his own cola as she slid it to him. "Start with the likes." She snorted.

"Magic is an escape," she stated at once, getting a sharp look from him. "There's a certain exhilaration you feel to know that you can do something that someone else can't. It makes you feel stronger than normal people, like you're invincible." He gave a small nod as she stared at him with a raised brow, acknowledging the point silently. "Magic can also help you in a hurry," she continued. "Moving is far easier to do with a swish of a wand, finding a remote doesn't take seven years, how easy it is to move across the globe with a simple crack of air." She gave a bitter smirk. "And yet…

"How much do you actually know about the magical world?" Christie leaned back, crossing her legs together. Another dig through her bag produced dessert, a large piece of chocolate cake that she had no problem with splitting unevenly, giving herself the smaller piece. "So, let's start with your precious Hogwarts, which is so wonderful, yet is the cause for many problems." Christie paused, taking a bite of cake and silently evaluating it. Too sweet for her taste, but a fluffiness that made it melt on the tongue.

"How can Hogwarts cause many problems?" Harry wondered, having paused after his first bite of cake as well. Delicious!

"It's for age eleven to nineteen," Christie stated, forcing her mouth to move past the sugar rush. Harry dug into his with gusto and she slid hers toward him. He rose a brow, but took it without protest. "The extra two years for failures. Now, where's the school for younger kids? There are none, because it's up to the parents, most who have to work themselves, to teach their children how to write and read. These same children also miss many opportunities to learn Latin, history and other subjects that they don't need a wand to learn.

"Examples being, runes, arithmancy, math, science, cooking, animals, the normal world; you know, useful stuff?" He looked thoughtful at her words. "Then, when you do go to school they waste time with those classes and don't even teach Latin or writing regardless; what do the children who aren't use to writing on parchment do? They turn in badly written assignments and get points off for it."

"But," Harry swallowed, shrinking under her sharp gaze. "They do have a Muggle Studies class."

"Oh they do, do they?" Christie raised her brow. "And how much would you bet that they don't know a lick of what they're saying?" Seeing another blush coming up his neck, she nodded smugly. "And the classes they do have are useless in everyday things. Like your Transfiguration; what's the point of transfiguring something useless into something else useless? What point does it make to change a rock into a teddy bear?"

"A rock into a teddy bear?" Harry snorted in amusement. Christie nodded sagely, finding no humor in her own words.

"Why not learn useful transfiguration?" She continued quietly, making him lean in to catch her words. "Like changing your clothes into something else? No point in buying normal clothes if you're only visiting the normal world once. And what about ID? What if you're stopped on the road and need it? Magical people don't have ID; why do they not know how to transfigure things to avoid such common problems? Instead, people have to waste time and money erasing memories from normal people to keep them in the dark." Harry blinked in surprise, having never thought of it that way.

"Okay, I'll give you those points," he nodded slowly, swallowing.

"Give me them?" Christie scoffed. "I've earned them." He certainly couldn't deny that.

"So Hogwarts does have a lot of faults." He frowned after saying it, closing his empty food container. "But it must be doing something right; society is still flowing, after all."

"Really?" Christie muttered. "And what does Hogwarts produce these days? When I was young, all Hogwarts produced were Aurors, Ministry workers and Quidditch Players. The only people with different futures were those who were born into money and the more studious people who pursued Masteries." She sniffed. "Why doesn't Hogwarts teach something useful, like how to run a business or how to be a healer? And on that note, why are there no schools for that?"

"There are schools for healers," Harry protested. "I mean, St. Mungos can't be run by a bunch of incompetent ninnies, right?"

"On the spot training," Christie waved her hand dismissively. "It's a learn as you go thing. And that's another thing Hogwarts doesn't do correctly. What year are you in, Harry?"

"Third."

"And how much of the magical world have you seen?" She wondered. His silence spoke loudly. "You don't know anything about the magical world," she continued, satisfied to see that he came to the same conclusion. "How many field-trips have you been on? Have you seen a magical zoo? A historical site? Didn't think so."

"Okay, okay, so Hogwarts has _many_ faults." He scowled, surprise and disbelief warring on his face. Christie smirked; if nothing else came from the conversation today, then at least she'd gotten a magical, lacking sense child thinking. "Which magic school did you go to anyway?" Harry wondered suddenly, obviously trying to compare their education.

"None," the Assassin shook her head. "I chose not to go to Hogwarts."

"Why not?" He gave her a surprised look before blushing and ducking his head as her eyes narrowed. "Er, sorry."

"Don't bother apologizing," she waved it off. "I chose not to go to Hogwarts because I got tired of the looks of pity." A look of confusion came to his face, making a bitter curl come to Christie's lips. "I have magic, I'm surprised that you realized it, not too many people do." She gestured to her clothing. "People see what I wear and assume from my attitude that I'm a Squib, and they may as well be right." She paused, sucking in a deep breath at the bitter tone her voice took. Harry seemed startled to hear it, staring at her unblinkingly for the first time since they'd sat.

"…What happened to you?" He wondered, seeming to not realize that he'd even asked the question. Christie snorted, her heart thudding uncomfortably. She'd always known and acknowledged that she was bitter about her childhood, but she hadn't realized she still felt so strongly about it. Suppressed feelings bubbled up to her throat, coloring her words even though she managed to force the most of them back.

"My magic is so low that I may as well be a Squib," Christie stated, a bit of a spit on her words. "Of course, being a Pure-blood in a powerful, successful magical family, who took great pride in what they are…" She trailed off, seeing his face darken. "Are you aware of what a family would do for a child to show magic?" A startled blink was her answer.

"Um…my-my friend Neville once told me-" He cut himself off. "He told me his family use to drop him off of high places to-to see if he showed early signs of magic."

"Seemed funny at the time, didn't it?" Christie snapped, rubbing her temples at his guilty face. "What's so funny about being thrown out of a window to see if you bounce?" She continued, much quieter than before, her mind caving in on her own memories. "Nothing fun about being set up, thinking someone is trying to kill you just so your family can see if they can scare the magic out of you. Of course, should their child be hurt, it's always an accident, even though they blame the child for it. If the child had magic, after all, then they wouldn't have been hurt." She scowled after saying the words, repeating what her aunt had once told her after they'd broken her arm.

"As for how I know so much about Hogwarts," she continued, forcing the memories away forcefully. "I have a big family, most who went to Hogwarts. I heard complaints about it for years before I finally left for the normal world. Of course, I wasn't as prepared as I thought for it." A bitter smile tilted her lips. "I didn't know about background checks, ID, things that were important, so I lived my first years there in the underground world. A poor little rich girl far away from home…It didn't take long for logic and common sense to be beaten into me."

The two sat in an awkward silence, letting the sounds of the pub surround them. Christie was lost in memories, remembering the condescending words her family use to constantly repeat to her. For the longest time, they'd killed her self-esteem to the lowest, making her seem like the most unattractive person in the world. _"Even a rat wouldn't lay with you."_ Surprisingly, it took her almost being raped before she started feeling better about herself.

"I see…" Harry broke the silence, coming up from his own thoughts. A bit of understanding was in his eyes as he pushed his empty dish towards the middle of the table, determined to keep the conversation moving past the sensitive subject. "What about everything else I've said then?" He wondered. "The food, the spells and Quidditch?" Broken from her thoughts, Christie frowned and leaned back in her chair. She took a deep breath, practicing Occlumency and locking the memories away for the moment. She would go over them on her own time.

"Well, I suppose the food can be nice…when it's a normal meal." She put their containers in a bag, giving her face a moment to calm down. "But the excessive usage of magic, pumpkins and sweets do get to be tiring. Also, I hate not knowing what it is that I'm eating. Do they still make Bertie Bott's Every Flavored Beans?" At his nod, she wrinkled her nose.

"It's fun to see what you're going to get though," Harry smiled after seeing her face. "Who would expect to eat grass?" Christie shook her head at the childish answer.

"I don't think you know the meaning of every flavored." She stroked her chin, contemplating. "My aunt once got a piece that tasted like shit." A wide eyed and pale look was shot to her, having obviously not expected such an answer. "Couldn't have happened to a better woman," Christie assured over his sputters. "But what about the other flavors, hmm? Boots, dust, grease, hair, human, animal, sperm?" She cocked her head to the side. "I can do this all day."

"Okay, okay! I get it!" He put his hands up in surrender, looking as though he would be sick. He was never eating those again. "Answer another question, please?" Christie smirked, amused at the pale look to his face.

"The spells are ridiculous," she obliged him. "Far too many useful ones you'll get into trouble for using and far too many useless ones in use. Like, for example," it took her a second to think, "the Cutting Hex. If used on a person, it's considered evil and is strictly forbidden to do such under penalty of law. However, if it weren't for that law, Medi-wizards could use the spell to help with surgeries; if they even bother with surgeries nowadays."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, who needs a surgery when you have a potion, right?" At the boy's nod, her eyes narrowed. "And if whoever needs help is allergic to something in the potion?" At his wide eyed look she nodded. "Something that Pure-bloods learn from our parents are illnesses, illnesses that vary depending on the blood. A normal-born child isn't grown around magic, so they're more susceptible to magical diseases. They're also less responsive to magical cures, often having to use slower methods to heal. They're also the ones with more allergic reactions.

"Of course, the same could be said about magical people in the normal world. They eat different things than normal people, so their bodies aren't as immune to illnesses that normal people can recover from quickly. But they have magic to help get over those problems, normal people and normal-born people aren't aware of that though, whether from ignorance or a lack of education." Christie sniffed at his wide eyed look.

"As for Quidditch, well, it's one sport. And not everyone can fly well on a broom. Besides that, Quidditch does nothing for your body but give you broken bones and hones your senses. There's no real exercise in it for most positions and thus a majority of players build up no muscles like they would if they participated in something like Track."

"I…see…" Harry put his head in his hands, disappointment written on his face. "I've never thought about it like that." His lips pursed. "I have a lot to think about."

"Here's something else to think about," Christie caught his attention again. "Azkaban," she pointed to a newspaper, where Sirius Black howled silently. "It's for adults, but kids do crimes too. And what about petty crimes? Does the person responsible go to Azkaban for stealing from the store?" Harry frowned.

"I…honestly don't know."

"Because you don't know about the magical world," Christie radiated smugness. "The answer to your questions are simple; there are no prisons for petty criminals, because a lot of petty crimes in the normal world aren't considered crimes in this one. As for heavier crimes, well, if a Squib is murdered, so long as there are no witnesses or family screaming murder then it's not investigated. If a Pure-blood rapes a normal person they get slapped with a fine that they can pay off after a day of work. If a Pure-blood steals from a normal-born, then they get a fine that's easy to pay off from a simple check.

"Reverse it, however, and the situation changes." She sighed. "Let a normal person, normal-born or a Squib do such a thing to a Pure-blood, it's a one way ticket into Azkaban, the worse prison a person could ever find themselves." Christie stood from her seat and stretched, seeing the pub getting very empty and Harry getting lost in thought. "It's late," she stated, looking around with a frown. "Of course, there aren't any garbage cans because they'll use magic to clean it away." The bitter mutter made Harry frown as he stood up, the trash on the table vanishing.

"Kind of makes you wonder where the garbage goes, doesn't it?" He whispered morosely, gloomily following her up the stairs. Christie felt a bit vindictive at killing his joys of magic, even as a twinge of remorse went through her. She knew that defeated stance; hadn't she lived it for years?

"It's never too late to learn about magic," the white haired woman stated, pausing at her room door. Harry looked up at her, his eyes suspiciously moist. "There are still wonders to this world," she scoffed, uncomfortable to give a pep talk. "The better ones are global and much more interesting to learn about."

"Right." He gave a sharp nod, as though not trusting himself to do anything more. "I…I really never thought about the world from someone else's view." Harry paused, a rueful smile coming to his face. "Maybe I do lack common sense?"

"You can always learn it." He gave a small smile and a nod at the comment.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Madam Christie."

"Of course," she stated, even though she knew he hadn't felt that way for a while. She turned to her door after that, opening it slowly as she waited for his next words, considering he had yet to leave his spot. When she finally got it open, he seemed to realize that he was hesitating.

"Wait!" Christie paused, looking over her shoulder at him with a brow raised. He shifted, bringing his head down in embarrassment. "Um…are you doing anything tomorrow?"

"You need something, runt?" She questioned, honestly curious about where the conversation was going.

"My name is not runt!" He snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's Harry!" Indecision warred on his face, before he sighed. "It's Harry Potter…" He stared at her from the corner of his eyes for a moment, nodding his head in relief when Christie continued to stare at him in question. "I-I wanted to know if you could…maybe take me out to London tomorrow?" Spending a day with a magical person was not high on her agenda. The Assassin resisted the urge to sigh as she felt her magic brushing up against his.

"…I guess." Christie shrugged, ignoring the hopeful glint in his eyes. "Though I'll warn you now, I'm only going three times. Once for breakfast, lunch and dinner."

"Can I join you for breakfast then?" At her nod, he gave a shy smile. "Thanks…um, I'm in room eleven if I'm not there in time."

"Okay then, Harry. I'll be ready to go around ten. Goodnight." He wished her a goodnight as well, puttering off to his room. Christie waited until he was gone and stepped into her room, doing a customary sweep of the area. Once done, she plopped down on the bed, moving her purchases out of the way. "Harry Potter," she muttered the words with a grimace. She knew the name Potter and it certainly didn't fit with the boy she'd seen. Potters were Pure-bloods, so what was he doing in the normal world and looking so…poor?

And her plans, he'd ruined them, just by giving her a name he'd ruined them! Master Chao, the assassin who'd picked her up, had once said what it was that made him chose her to pass his teachings to. _"The strength you displayed to live,"_ he'd told her. _"The taint of darkness in your life. Your lonely appearance. All I had to do was extend a hand and you came to me; that, Christie, is how we choose our apprentices."_ Power, darkness, and loneliness, all things _Harry_ had displayed.

How easy it would have been to walk from the magical world with an apprentice that no one would miss. Especially a normal-born? No crime would have been committed for kidnapping charges, because despite being weak she was still magical and Pure-bred. But a Potter? Even in such threadbare clothing, alone, pathetic, living in the normal world, he was still from a Pure-blood family; the Ministry of Magic would move mountains to have a prominent family backing them.

And what was a Potter doing living in the normal world anyway?

"Potter…" Christie mumbled the word, thoughts rushing through her head. She wondered if the name had the same power now as it did back then. What had happened in that magical war? The assassin bit her lips, wondering how much money the boy had at his fingertips. He'd ruined one plan, but if she played her cards right…

"It's a dangerous game you're thinking of Christie," she spoke to herself. With a grin, she stood to undress. "But aren't those always the best ones?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning:** Made up places, mucking up of British places, fanfiction. LOL

If anyone actually knows some places in London around the areas in the story and would like something more accurate to be placed in instead of the made up and generally American bs that I substitute things for, feel free to leave suggestions in the reviews and/or pm me. Or even flame; I miss flames. :(

**About the Author('s recent feelings of the story): **Hasn't changed a bit. I still love Christie to pieces and am really digging the future chapters I have written. So far three other DOA Characters have touched the fic in interesting ways and I am totally enjoying it. Trying to find a spot to put Tina into the fic too; she doesn't get enough love either. Hmmm...ideas popping into mind now...

**One thing I really love** about Christie is that she is a fantastic actor. How do I know this? Duh, look at her background in the actual game, then look at how she really is! Would any of you have trusted a woman like that to be a maid for you? Didn't think so! Skills I tell ya, skills!

* * *

Early risers of The Leaky Cauldron were treated to a startling view that morning, a silent mocking battle taking place that they weren't aware of, but they were certainly aware of Tom's anger with the situation.

Many people weren't staring at Tom, however, but at the middle table where a yawning Christie sat. The white haired woman wore nothing more than her white Beryl, the camisole and g-string never seen before in Wizarding circles and considered quite scandalous to all eyes that saw. Especially Tom's eyes, though the man was trying (and horribly failing) to pretend as though he wasn't bothered by her lack of apparel. Well aware of the looks she was receiving from others, Christie continued to pretend read the book she held in her hand. It was two hours before she'd told Harry to be downstairs and she was already bored. After growing sick of her technology lacking room she'd come down to read with more noise around her, substituting the sound of the music or television she'd usually use for the babble of idiot magic folk.

And getting info while she was at it.

She didn't like what she was hearing so far. Yesterday, she'd been treated to multiple mutters of escaped convict, Sirius Black. Today, she was treated to multiple mutters of Sirius Black working for the man who started the last war, and who had apparently escaped to kill the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter, her newest project. The information let her know that Harry was famous, which meant that she had really misjudged the situation the day before. Thankfully she hadn't gone through with her plans to kidnap him, otherwise it would be her in Azkaban.

However, the news Christie had received also let her know that it was time to learn about the world that had forsaken her long before she'd done the same to it. She had to hit the library, read up on the last war, Harry's part in the last war, Black's part in the war; much as she hated it, it would at least give her something to do. But the first thing she had to do was fully awaken, considering it was still too early to be awake and she _hated_ waking early. Unfamiliar places always did this to her.

"…Coffee…" She grumbled out, other words becoming lost past her throat. She needed a nice, bean grounded, strong, black coffee, with no sugars and a large mug. Unfortunately, The Leaky Cauldron didn't even have a whiff of coffee, just tea, tea, pumpkins, and tea. With an irritated sigh, Christie stood up, getting quite the few scandalous gasps and stares as people's eyes trained to her rear. She had almost forgotten how…prudish the magical world was, but the situation had been too hilarious to pass up.

"Madam!" Tom hissed, appalled at her lack of clothing. Grey eyes snapped to him, showing a sharp displeasure. By no means was Christie a morning person, especially not a _nice_ one; she was not in the mood for his harping so early. Seeming to read the deadly vibes she gave, the barkeep held his tongue, the scolding he had been prepared to give dying away. With a satisfied nod, Christie made her way upstairs, bypassing her room and heading towards room eleven. She gave three sharp knocks and waited, hearing mutters and cursing before the door creaked open.

A bleary eyed, messy haired and down dressed Harry opened the door, squinting at her as he'd forgotten to grab his glasses. It took him a moment to realize who she was, then realize what she was wearing. A red flush traveled up his neck. "Madam Christie," he mumbled. "You're in your underwear…"

"Yeah," she grumbled, her normal volume of voice after waking even when she wasn't angry. "Listen runt, I'm leaving early today, so you may want to hurry up if you still plan on going to London." A yawn broke his lips and he nodded, rubbing his eyes again.

"I'll, um," his eyes trained on a spot behind her. "I'll go and get ready then."

"You do that." Christie turned heel and stalked off to her room, ignoring the strangled gasp the teen gave. He'd learn to get over his hormones as long as he stuck with her; by no means was she a modest woman.

Less than an hour later, Christie once again sat in the pub, wearing a black dress with black stockings and black boots. The outfit made her hair stand out sharply, but it was her favorite color, so she couldn't complain much. It had been a chore to not snap at the mirror after it had complimented her, but thankfully she had more sense than to get into an argument with it.

Harry came down moments later, a frown of annoyance on his face. The assassin perked up slightly, sensing his mood change and wondering about the look as he walked over to her. "Madame Christie," he greeted, a bit hesitantly. "I was just upstairs getting ready to go when Tom came in." He paused, a rueful smile coming to his lips. "He reminded me that Minister Fudge said I'm not supposed to go to Mug-um, normal London."

"Why?" Christie questioned, though she had a suspicious feeling it had to do with Sirius Black. Harry shrugged bitterly. "No matter," she waved it off, rolling her stiff shoulders. "It's not like the man is your father, after all."

"I don't want to cause trouble," he mumbled, his eyes dashing to the side. "Also, Tom is keeping an eye on me." Annoyance shot through Christie as the boy continued to waste time; she needed coffee, damn it.

"So what you want to do," she spoke on, as though not hearing his words. "Is go to the bank and get some galleons changed into pounds." Green eyes blinked owlishly at her. "Afterwards, we'll go and get some breakfast; I'm hungry, I need coffee, and I'm sick of being in this dingy place." Grey eyes narrowed as Tom walked over to them, the old man putting a hand to Harry's shoulder.

"Is there a problem here, Harry?" He questioned, shooting a pointed look to Christie.

"_You let him go this instant." _The hissed words were accompanied by the click of a gun, the sound going largely ignored in the pub as people continued to speak, not knowing just what was happening in the middle of the room. Harry's eyes went wide and he stiffened, though Tom seemed confused at the metal barrel pointing unobtrusively from her hand. "You listen here," the assassin darkly intoned. "I have been waiting for a long time to get some coffee. I am _irritated_, _annoyed_ and _not_ in the mood to have you magically lacking sense bigots talk down to me today.

"It's bad enough that I'm forced to sit in your presence," she continued, the man becoming wary as he saw the effect the gun had on Harry. "But if you, who isn't the boy's father, caretaker, caregiver, or anything else that pertains to a matter of importance in his life, bud into my conversation again, as though I'm going to hurt him just because he has more magic then me, then I'll end your life here and damn the consequences." Her eyes narrowed into slits as he swallowed. "And I can assure you, _Tom,_ that I have more than enough money and blood purity to get out of the sentence."

An awkward silence started up, broken only by a peal of laughter from one of the pub members, even as Tom slowly backed away from Harry. Said boy allowed a shudder to leave him, before he sent a look to the landlord of the place. "I'm over here by choice," he stated, a bit disappointed that such a seemingly kind man displayed an obvious prejudice. "Also, it's rude to eavesdrop."

"Of-of course," he whispered hoarsely. Only when he left did Christie put away her weapon, strapping it to the top of her right thigh without a second thought. Harry turned to her with wide eyes and a fast beating heart.

"What the hell was that?" He hissed, sitting heavily in his chair. "You have a _gun_?!"

"Its proper name is G18 Automatic Pistol," she responded dryly. "Common street name you'll find is Glock. And, by the way, you have a _wand_?!" He sucked in a breath at her sarcastic impression.

"How can you compare a gun to a wand?!"

"You can't," Christie muttered sourly, sending him an irritated glance. "A gun can cause pain and kill people depending on where you hit. A wand can cause pain, kill people, torture people, force people to kill other people, make your breakfast and clean up your room in the same day." Harry paled, his hand giving a spasm towards his pocket. "Now, if you're done getting off your high horse, can we move it to the bank?" The assassin sniffed and stood. "I _need_ my coffee."

The walk to the bank, Gringotts, was silent. Almost reluctantly, Harry had agreed to keep giving Christie the benefit of the doubt, considering his shattered view of how good magic was. Not to mention he was still a bit shaken at the blatant prejudice Tom displayed, and her seemingly defensive action against it. Christie was no fool, she knew exactly what the boy thought he knew about her having a gun; he would think it was standard of a Squib, of a low magical being, because they had to protect themselves.

It was almost laughable!

"You got your key?" Christie questioned, breaking the silence as they made it to the bank. Harry tensed slightly, before a frown crossed his face.

"No," he stated. "But I do still have some coins out from last year."

"Where's your key?" The assassin pressed, her lips thin. "Did your parents take it?" He look startled at the question.

"I don't-I don't have any parents," he admitted, not knowing that she already knew that.

"Then your guardian has it?" She pressed on, getting a suspicious glance.

"Why are you so interested in my key?" He wondered dubiously, eyes trailing to her leg. Christie snorted, amused in spite of herself.

"Trust me when I say I have far more money than I can make by robbing you." He relaxed. "I'm only curious as to why you don't have your key, because it's not natural for you to not have it. Pure-blood lessons," she explained to his confused look. "If you hail from the normal world, then that means your guardians are either normal, normal-born, Squib, or the occasional Half-blood, correct?"

"Muggles," he nodded, ignoring her dark glare at the name.

"In that case, they aren't allowed to have your key; normal people can't use them and Squibs aren't allowed to have a bank opened in Gringotts, so it's illegal for them to have your key. Therefore, if your guardians don't have your key, and you don't have it, where is your key?" She closed her eyes and leaned against the brick building, rubbing at her head as it scolded her for thinking too early. "The reason I ask is simple; anyone who has your key can get into your money, whether you allow it or not."

"Professor Dumbledore has my key," Harry stated. "I trust him…I think."

"Why would a school teacher have it?" The white haired woman raised a brow. "Is he your Magical Guardian?"

"What's a Magical Guardian?" The question caused a worried frown to come to his face, though Christie resisted the urge to bang her head against the wall.

"A Magical Guardian is a person who takes care of your magical needs; they teach you laws, how to dress, etiquette, et cetera." She sneered down at his clothes, which made him look rather poor and needy, making him flush uncomfortably. "If he is your Magical Guardian, then it's perfectly legal for him to have your key, though the question that pops up now is, why do I, a person who hasn't been here in years, know more about this world than you do?"

"I suppose that does raise some questions," Harry frowned. "But, I mean, so far he's given it back to me every year…though I don't remember giving it to him." The frown deepened. "You don't think he's stealing from me, do you?"

"Never met him, wouldn't know," Christie deadpanned. "Besides, you should know if money is leaving your vaults through your bank statements, which, by the look on your face," she rolled her eyes, "you never bothered to check for." He shook his head. "Have you even bothered to monitor your money? Whatever…I'll help you look it over later. For now, I just want some _coffee_."

Inside of the bank, without much protest from the still reeling boy, Christie got him statements for his accounts ("There's more than a Trust Fund?"), revoked his previous key, had a new one made, got him a bit of cash for the normal world, and had an appointment set up with the Goblins for later in the day. A stunned Harry followed along quietly, the entire process having been completed in less than ten minutes. "I'm not a morning person," she'd had to explain, as she'd been so swift in execution he was wondering if she had Goblin blood.

Once back at The Leaky Cauldron, Harry sent Christie a thoughtful look, withholding a frown as Tom headed towards them. Christie caught the look at once, though her eyes focused on the old man as he plastered on a smile. Unfortunately, this was the only exit to London that she was comfortable with, otherwise she would have led him through one of the other exits. "Welcome back, Harry," he greeted, ignoring Christie as she brushed by him. "You were gone for so long, I was beginning to worry."

"There was no need to worry," Harry stated, following after her. He stopped when the barkeep placed a hand on his shoulder. He had a hard look to his eyes as he gaze at Christie's back, though it softened as he looked down to him.

"Listen, there's something I want to tell you."

"Speak up," Christie stated, having turned around when she realized Harry wasn't behind her. Tom flinched, his hand tightening its grip. "Tell him everything loud and clear, then get the hell on so we can go eat."

"He is eating here," the wizard stated firmly, straightening his back. "Where I can keep an eye on him."

"Are you his Magical Guardian, then?" Christie wondered darkly, the man swallowing as he realized that she knew the law. "Listen here and listen well, _Tom_, because I'm not going to repeat myself again." She ran a hand through her hair in frustration. "Harry and I are going out for something to eat and drink. He is not your child, so you have no say in his decision. If he says he doesn't want to go, then I will gladly leave here and have nothing else to do with him, because I hate wasting my time. However, if he keeps getting coerced into not wanting to go, then you won't make me budge an inch."

"Now see here, woman-" Tom's voice died away as a painful grip alighted on his neck. Harry flinched, having blinked and missed the quick step, the flush that had started on his face during the argument beginning to die out. Christie stared Tom in the eyes, her own ones glaring spitefully as he tried to remove her hand desperately. The other customers quieted down, a few with wands in their hands as they assessed the situation, though many seemed surprised that she was holding him up by one hand, leaving his feet to dangle on the floor.

"No, you see here, _Tom_," she spat. "I've had enough of your holier-than-thou attitude and you've fucked with me for the last time." He gasped desperately, not even thinking to kick out to release himself from the hold. _Magical people!_ "Harry is _not_ your son, nor is he your responsibility! And if he was, you and I would be having an entirely different conversation right now." She gestured to Harry's clothes, making said boy flush as mutters started up. "In fact, it is _illegal_ to interfere in his business for those reasons alone!"

"M-Minis-" He gasped.

"Oh yes, _him._" Christie spat, dropping Tom to the ground so he could get some desperately needed air. "Now, why would the Minister get involved in a child's business? And I don't give a damn what _orders_ the Minister gave you, he is not an _Auror_. Quite frankly, the both of you are violating Harry's rights. And that, _Tom,_" he paled as a shark's grin lit her mouth, "is a legal grounds for a lawsuit. Now, do we still have a problem?" The only sound in pub was Tom's heavy breathing as he shook his head, desperate eyes turning to Harry, who frowned at him.

"Though I don't like how she went about it, I agree with her. Though I do have to wonder about these laws."

"I'll tell you the name of a book on them later," Christie groused. "Let's _go._ I haven't had my coffee, my head is killing me, and I feel like killing someone else." She shot a poisonous look at Tom, then turned her back on him and stalked from the pub, her dress fluttering behind her. The crisp air of the outside calmed her down slightly, even as she impatiently waited for Harry to join her. He came out a minute later, an unflattering jacket over him and a flushed face.

"Forgot to change," he explained, recalling the talk they had yesterday about transfiguration. "Where are we going?"

"BLD," Christie stated, hailing a cab. "I have some questions of my own to ask you, though I get the feeling that I won't like the answers." The ride to the eatery was silent, only the sound of Christie's cell phone interrupting them. She took one look at the caller and hung it up, not wanting to deal with the headache right then.

"Is this it?" Harry asked a short while later, staring dubiously at the small and nearly run down building.

"Yes," Christie answered, ushering him in. The cashier gave a wide smile at the sight of them, taking their orders, giving Christie a large coffee (said woman refused to admit that she melted at the taste), before turning around and cooking their meal. "Doesn't look like it'll be much, does it?" The assassin questioned Harry after they sat at their table. He shook his head. "I'm unsurprised," she admitted, the first smile he'd ever seen from her touching her lips. "It looks bad, but it's a hole-in-the-wall place; the food is delicious."

"A what?"

"Never mind that now." Another sip of her coffee made her close her eyes in bliss. "I told you I had some questions, didn't I?" Harry nodded hesitantly, taking a sip of the orange juice she'd gotten him. Thankfully, there was no pulp; he hated pulp. "Then let's get on with them." She sat the coffee down and peered at him. "What do you know about Sirius Black?"

"Black?" A surprised look came to his face. "Um, well, I know that he's a wizard," he started slowly. "That he escaped from Azkaban. He killed thirteen Muggles with one spell, he's a huge supporter of Voldemort and he's off his rocker." Harry blinked. "Why?"

"Hang on," Christie stated with a frown, getting up to get their food. She came back with a large tray, setting it on the table gently. The smell of eggs, bacon, grits, biscuits and sausages wafted through the air, making Harry's stomach groan. His eyes widened as Christie opened a dish in the middle, revealing pancakes surrounded by a selection of syrups and honey, with a compliment of sliced fruits.

"There's no way we'll finish this," he stated breathlessly, fingers twitching eagerly as he grabbed a plate.

"Of course not," Christie murmured, digging into her own food. "We'll be taking the leftovers with us. Now, about Black." He raised a brow at her, testing the grits; he'd never had them before, but with a bit of salt they weren't that bad. "I heard the same things you did about him," she admitted, putting a touch of honey on her pancakes. "But I also heard he was trying to kill you."

"…I really shouldn't be surprised," Harry mumbled.

"You really didn't know then?" He shook his head at her. "I thought not. You certainly don't act like someone being hunted." He shuddered at the words, going back to his juice for lack of anything better to do. "I'm pretty sure Fudge and Tom knew about it," Christie continued, getting a sharp look from him. "Why else do you think they didn't want you out of magical sight?"

"You mean you-?"

"Yeah, I brought you out here even knowing you could be in danger." She shrugged. "But if I could get past Tom, what makes you think Black couldn't? Besides, I get the feeling you'd be safer with me." She tapped her gun to show exactly why she felt that way. He bit his lip at the gesture, before nodding sharply.

"I see your point." Both took a moment to eat, seeing the morning rush beginning to pick up as people entered and exited the store, some even choosing to stay.

"I wonder why they simply didn't put you in a Protection Program," Christie mused after a while, finishing the last of her coffee. "Then again, I highly doubt they have one."

"Protection Program?" The wizard murmured. "Like the Muggle police have?"

"That's right," Christie nodded. "The _normal_ police would have explained to you what was going on and then placed you into a program to protect you."

"Well, magical people don't have common sense, remember?" A smirk tugged at her lips, making him smile. It abruptly dropped as he thought about Black again. "Why would people think not to tell me that someone's out to kill me? Don't they figure that I'd be more cautious if I knew?"

"They figure you're a child," Christie corrected. "And had you followed along with Tom, you never would have known this, because I wouldn't have had the chance to tell you it." He nodded, his lips pursing. "Regardless of which, I'm full now, and we still have to get to your appointment at Gringotts." Nodding, Harry stood to follow her, dumping their trash and bagging their leftovers along the way.

Thankfully, there were no problems on the way back to Gringotts, which led to the rather quick meeting with the Goblins. They were led to a small room off the side of the main foyer to a stout goblin with a dark beard on his chin. He was looking over papers and muttering, Harry's name in print on the top of the case. Both humans sat and waited, one rather impatiently and the other calm. After a long moment, the Goblin looked up and put on a pair of small round glasses, giving a beady eyed glare to the two.

"Potter and friend," he greeted. "I am Hobbes, Head Goblin of the Potter Fortune. I've just gone over your accounts to make sure nothing is amiss. Aside from a take out of galleons at the beginning of last year and before then, nothing seems out of the ordinary. The main key has been disabled, however, and the new one created within minutes after your departure." The Goblin slid said key forward and Harry took it, shoving it in his pocket in relief. He knew Dumbledore wasn't stealing from him. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"None that I can think of," Harry mused. "Christie?"

"Is there a way to access his money in the normal world?" Said woman questioned at once, having been patiently waiting for the question. Hobbes stroked his beard in thought.

"We don't get too many request for this," he admitted, a frown on his face. "But there is something we can do to help. After all, we do work with the normal government and banks on the outside. All we'd have to do is transfer some of your funds to a regular bank account and the rest is up to you."

"Is that acceptable, Harry?" The young wizard blinked, thinking it over.

"What's the advantage?" He wondered.

"Credit Card," the Goblin stated at once, showing a platinum banded card at once. "Also, and don't ever say you heard it from me, the interest rate is higher than here." Christie whistled, prompting Harry to agree to it. The assassin read over the contract at his bequest, nodding here and there as she approved of the fine print.

"Will I be the only one with access to the account?" Harry wondered, hesitating to sign as the papers were passed to him.

"Well," Hobbes went through Harry's file again, nodding in satisfaction. "Seeing as you're adopted into a family not of your blood, that's most likely the case."

"Not of my blood?" A surprised look came across the wizard's face. "I live with my aunt's family." It was the Goblin's turn to look surprised.

"And when was this?" He questioned, opening the file again and flipping through it rapidly. Harry sent him a confused look, shooting a glance to a stoic Christie, before turning back to Hobbes as he pulled a few files out.

"I've been raised with my Aunt Petunia since…the day after my parent's died." Hobbes shook his head, muttering in his natural tongue rapidly. After a moment, he showed Harry a piece of paper with names on it. "Addams?" He wondered aloud. "Who are they?"

"According to this, they're your adopted family," Hobbes stated darkly. "Petunia Dursley sent in a notification of you being placed into an orphanage and adopted by said family; her name is signed here, with her husband as a witness." He pointed it out to the dismayed boy. "Said you moved to Number 4, Privet Drive, and we checked your magical signature to confirm."

"I live there," Harry's voice shook as Christie took the paper from his nerveless fingers. "I live there with my aunt, uncle and cousin."

"Oh dear," Christie muttered, leaning back in her chair as Hobbes's face darkened. "It appears as though Mrs. Dursley is running a scam." She pointed to the Addams' names, which showed a stipend of money being given to them monthly. "If you are living at that address, then that means the money sent has been going to them. Are they a bit well to do?"

"Y-yes!" He practically shouted, not even noticing the frown Hobbes gave at his clothing. "But I thought that Uncle Vernon brought in the money, because they always said-!" He cut off abruptly, running a hand through his hair.

"Then that means your adoption papers were never signed," Christie continued in the silence. "Making you an orphan…an orphan that has taken care of himself for the past thirteen years." He stared at her uncomprehendingly. "In other words, an adult."

"Is that true?" Hobbes nodded at the question, taking the paper back and shooting it a glare.

"To enter Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you need permission from a parent or guardian to go. As you went without either, that there is proof of the school considering you an adult." Surprise made his legs numb.

"What about my aunt?" Harry wondered tiredly, too numb to question anything else.

"She will be dealt with immediately," Hobbes sneered. "False notifications, false usage of funds, theft; Azkaban will be a pleasure to where she'll be going. Rest assured, _Lord_ Potter, all money lost will be returned to you ten fold." He marked the paper with a thick red line, muttering angrily under his breath.

"Don't forget to sign your papers for the card," Christie stated, nodding to the papers on the desk. "Also, he's going to need a new statement of his funds, considering he's a Lord now."

"You're quite right." Hobbes dug into his desk, producing a few slips of paper at once. "As a Lord, you've officially inherited all of the Potter Assets; this is a list of businesses, incomes, homes, and partnerships owned. Right now, I am currently overseeing the process; due to my blunders, I understand if you wish to replace me."

"Depending on how much money is returned, how much humiliation is involved and how swiftly punishment is dealt, I'll be sure to talk him into keeping you." Christie gave a shark's grin, amused to see Harry nodding with her. "Alas, this brings you to a dilemma, Harry; you've got no business skills and I highly doubt you know a thing about partnerships. In fact, if you were to interfere now, you'd probably sink your fortune."

"Oh dear," Hobbes muttered, pinching his nose.

"Of course, that's easily taken care of," Christie continued. "Unfortunately for you, this means you'll need a private tutor and you'll have to drop a few classes in Hogwarts."

"Great, studying." Heaving a huge sigh, Harry nodded. "You're right though. Thank you for your time, Hobbes."

"No, thank you for bringing this situation to us, Lord Potter," Hobbes grunted. "Your new Credit Card is waiting for you with Merrypip outside. It is acceptable world wide, including allowing you to remove currency from ATMs. Please remember that the currency exchange rate is different in each country." With a handshake, the two made their way out of the office, acquiring Harry's card and PIN number, and going to his family vault.

Surprisingly, Harry allowed Christie into his vault, upon which she immediately began to snoop around, not foolish enough to take something with eyes on her back. She nodded in satisfaction when she found what she was looking for, a bright ruby ring encased in a golden band, and quickly advised Harry to take it. "It's the Potter Ring," she stated after he put it on. "It lets people know you're an adult and in charge of your fortune."

"That's it?" He wondered, a bit disappointed.

"Of course it isn't," Christie deadpanned. "But every family has a different ring; I don't know everything about yours." Flushing, he nodded in thanks. "Anyway, now that you're a Lord you should definitely change your clothing; you'll lose many partnerships dressed like that." He looked down at his clothing, his face clouding over darkly.

"Dudley's castoffs," he scoffed in disgust.

"It's also advisable for you to wear your Family Crest." His eyes followed her pointed finger, heading to a hanging and still picture. A rather wicked looking sword was pierced through the middle of a fallen and cracked shield. In ribbons beneath it was the Family Motto; _Live and Let Die._ "Get it embroidered on your clothes, your school things and whatever else; it let's the world know not to mess with you."

"I see…" He went over to the crest, taking the smaller patch that was beneath it. "Anything else I need?"

"Your family colors," she stated, pointing to his ring. "Red and gold should always be present in your attire for official business. Aside from that, a magical tutor can tell you everything that I've missed." Nodding, he snatched up a pile of money. "Any way to get that without constantly coming back and forth to your vault?"

"I'll ask." Asking was a good thing, as they had a few ways for a person to carry quite a bit of their money. The first was a Mokeskin Pouch, which carried far more than its small appearance belied. Christie had him buy one even though she rejected it for money, considering it was quite useful. Then she bought one for herself. The option Harry had taken, however, was the checkbook. Unlike the normal world, a checkbook would immediately place the proper amount of funds into the recipient's store, so long as Harry willingly signed his name beneath the price.

With their business in the bank concluded, Christie prepared to walk off, wanting to spend some time in the normal world; magic was making her itchy. Unfortunately, Harry pleaded quite successfully with her to help him get a few robes made first, making her enter Madam Malkin's store. Said witch had immediately tried to take over the conversation when they entered, assuming that they were there for Hogwarts robes, trying to make Harry stand on the stool at once. She'd only stopped when Christie put her foot down and glared at her, jerking Harry behind her.

Though embarrassed, the witch apologized for her behavior and finally listened to what they actually wanted. Hogwarts robes, seven everyday robes, undershirts, underwear; he'd had to get an entirely new wardrobe. Thankfully, for once, magical means were quicker than normal ones, so his size was only needed once before the clothes were fetched and made. Malkin had flushed when she saw the crest she needed to add to the clothes, though smartly had chosen not to comment.

Harry left the store looking magically proper, making Christie resist the bitter urge to scoff at him. He seemed to realize that, even though she'd helped him, she wasn't too fond of it, and thus had quickly changed back into his disgusting, oversized normal clothes and followed her from the magical barrier. "Where are you going?" He asked, having ran to catch up to her as she hadn't waited for him.

"Don't know," she grunted, calming down slightly. It had been a chore to remain close lipped and civil throughout the day, but her acting skills had hid away most of her blunders. Christie's brow twitched, knowing that she would have to sort through her memories of magic thoroughly as they were throwing off her game. She hated letting her emotions rule her.

"Can you take me to the mall?" Harry questioned almost shyly, fingering his card. "I think I need a new…normal wardrobe." Christie paused, her nose crinkling at the thought of being surrounded by a bunch of loud, foul mouthed teenagers, before she sighed and nodded.

"Yeah, I'll take you. In the future, however, you may want to shop a bit higher." He stared at her in bemusement. "Tailored suits," she stated. "You didn't pay much attention, but some of the businesses you own are in the normal world. That means some of your partners…"

"Ah, I see." He nodded, then gave a sigh of his own. "That means I'll need to learn about the normal world better, doesn't it?" A smirk was his only answer, making him groan.

The mall was indeed full of loud, foul mouthed teenagers, though thankfully they weren't dim enough to decide to pick on anyone. Security was also quite tight, making her run a hand through her hair as she had to leave her gun somewhere safe. Even if someone found it before her, all fingerprints were wiped clean. Harry went from clothing store to clothing store, getting odd and amazed looks at his Platinum Card, though Christie got a few of her own as she had a Platinum Card as well. When the store's machines were broken, Christie paid the cash by hand, despite the disgruntled looks Harry shot her.

"Let this be a lesson," she'd stated, uncaring of the wide eyed looks she received after paying for a laptop of her own, then a fully cash one for him as well. "Always carry money with you, just in case the machines are down."

"I could have just gotten it another day," he pointed out, though he took the box with a wry smile. "I don't need your charity."

"Charity?" Raising a brow, she stepped out of line. "I don't _do_ charity, runt. You're paying me back every last dime; that's why I'm keeping a copy of the receipt."

"How much money do you have, anyway?" He wondered, allowing her to take the box from his hands and shoulder it as she'd done with most of his purchases. Many were amazed, himself included, that such a thin woman was that strong.

"Enough to own a Yacht and a mansion with money leftover to live six lifetimes," she answered curtly, shooting a glare to a listener. "I've also got quite a collection of diamonds."

"I've never seen you wear diamonds." The young teen stared her over curiously. Christie flicked her wrist, revealing a diamond bracelet that the dress sleeve had been blocking. A few people looked over as it caught the light, even as Harry gave a startled blink. "Wow."

"Normally, I'd have no problem flaunting it," she admitted, putting the sleeve back down. "But I don't feel like being bothered these days." Harry let his nose lead them to the food court awhile later, ordering them both pizza and feeling quite good about the day as Christie waited for him at a table. He'd never had so much money to spend before, not for himself let alone someone else.

While waiting for Harry, Christie's phone rang, making her scowl. She had to get the damn thing upgraded to work in the magical world. Not that it mattered, the scowl deepened as she looked at who was calling her. Eighty missed calls, all from the same person. She accepted the call, then hung up, a cruel smirk curling her lips. She could practically hear the swearing…

"These are really big slices," Harry stated, sitting down at the table with her. He sat down two large pizzas, breadsticks, a small stack of chicken, sauce and two Pepsis. Christie put her phone away and grabbed the stacked pizza that was hers, full of onions, olives, sausages and pepperonis. Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust, his own pizza lacking all toppings but pepperonis. "Anything else we need to do?" He wondered. Harry would come to regret that question.

Hours later, the duo returned to The Leaky Cauldron, their purchases held mostly in Christie's hands. A flushing Harry hid his hands and resisted the urge to flatten his flat hair, having been given a manicure and gone to a salon with Christie. The women in the shops had cooed at him all day and Christie had not helped matters at all, considering she told the women that he'd never had anything done before.

Tom sent her a glare that went unacknowledged, though a hint of satisfaction stained his lips as they went up the stairs. Both went to Christie's room first, though the white haired woman didn't allow him inside, instead sitting her purchases down and doing a customary sweep. Once satisfied, she helped carry his purchases to his room, a feeling of anxiety suddenly coursing through her.

"What's wrong?" Harry wondered, shooting a curious look to her hand as it grabbed his.

"Let me put your purchases in my room," she murmured, shooting a suspicious look to his door. "Give me a moment." Surprised, he followed after her, though he remained quiet as she removed her gun from its hiding place.

"Christie-?"

"Something doesn't feel right," she mumbled, shooting a glance to his door. "Wait here." Looking as though he didn't believe her, Harry nodded, though she didn't bother to explain just why it didn't feel right. Her senses had never steered her wrong before, however, and she opened the door a crack.

"Mister Pot-ack!" Green eyes wide in disbelief, Harry made his way forward and eyed the man Christie had apprehended. A bowler cap rolled out of the room, its bright green color telling him exactly who it was right away. Sweating slightly, the man's pudgy face outraged with a gun under his chin, was Minister Fudge. "Unhand me this instant!"

"Christie, that's the Minister!" Harry hissed, feeling a strange urge to laugh.

"That's right!" He snapped. "And I'll have your head for this!"

"Really?" Christie wondered, her knee digging into his stomach painfully. He winced. "That's no good. Why, if I let you go I'll be in trouble, but if I kill you I'm sure I can blame it on Black." Both wizards paled, making her smirk grimly. "Though let's start with some questions first, _Minister._ Why are you in _Lord_ _Potter's_ room? That's illegal, isn't it?" He swallowed thickly, face going paler at the implication.

"I-I'm-important business-"

"What a coincidence," Christie murmured. "I have some important business to discuss with you, too. Lord Potter, please wait outside of the room; this could get messy." Disbelief and shock warring on his face, Harry hesitantly left the room and closed the door, his ear pressed against it. He needn't have bothered as she would tell him what she'd done anyway, and instead he only got a few screams to add to a few pesky nightmares that would pop up that week.

"You…interrogated Minister Fudge," Harry stated in shock, sitting down on his bed as said man beat a hasty retreat.

"I most certainly did," Christie stated darkly. At his continued look, she gave him the same bullshit story she had given Fudge. "I thought he was a Polyjuiced Pedophile; all Pure-bloods grow up hearing stories about them. Why else would he be lurking in your room?"

"What did you do to him?" Harry wondered, morbidly curious as she shrugged.

"I just…persuaded him that it was in his best interest to stay away from you with a bunch of laws you wouldn't understand. So many charges can be filed against him, especially as he entered the room of a lord without permission. A little threat to leak the news to the press and he was easy to mold after that."

"Christie, what are you?" The question made the assassin smirk as she turned to him, not even flinching under his suspiciously thoughtful gaze. "You're really strong," he continued quietly. "Manipulative. You carry guns around." After a moment, his eyes lit up. "Are you a bodyguard?"

"No," Christie snorted, standing.

"A police officer?" He continued at her back.

"Goodnight, runt."

"It's Harry!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Warning:** I forgot to mention this in chapter one, but the timeline is pretty wonky. Though the story is still placed in the proper Harry Potter timeline, due to the futuristic places in DOA, I've made Muggle technology a lot better. Therefore, you'll be seeing things (realistic or otherwise) from the year of 2000s and onward in the year of the 1900s. If you've got a problem with that, tough.

**About the Author('s screaming rage at not being able to afford the new DOA): **...Sobs...T^T If anyone is coming up with a YT video showing off the new outfits of Christie/fights featuring Christie/Ayane/Tina/Eliot, please let me know.

Anyone on Pottermore? The information added is so entertaining, yet frustratingly slow to update! I'm in Slytherin, by the way. Got sorted there twice and sorted into Ravenclaw once. :3

*By the way, fanfiction won't let me put down email addresses; it erases the email part completely; you'll know exactly what I'm talking about when you get there. Anyway, that's the reason it's written like this.

* * *

The week was quite a strange and informative one.

The Goblins had indeed kept up with their end of the bargain and humiliated Petunia Dursley swiftly. Christie knew this because she'd gotten a moment to herself in the normal world, though Harry had gotten the information first and hadn't really wanted to bring attention to it. She had been practicing Occlumency in her favorite diner when she'd caught the tail end of a conversation; Two girls were whispering about the top story, where Petunia Dursley was mentioned embezzling nearly a million dollars from a wealthy heir.

Her family was also under investigation for kidnapping, child neglect, child abuse, criminal mischief, fraud and a slew of other charges which were extending to the neighborhood and the school staff. No one knew just who the heir was and those in the case had been warned that they would be arrested with no questions asked should they give it. That morning, Christie toasted Hobbes; Said Goblin definitely got a shining review from her, though Harry was still hesitant to speak on the subject. In fact, he had even asked to be completely kept out of it, only accepting the news clippings that Christie had given to him to keep him up to date.

That very same week, Harry admitted that he hadn't been able to do his homework or go school shopping as his neglectful family hadn't allowed him to do anything in their home. Reluctantly agreeing to take him shopping after he finished his homework, Christie spent the days going over his businesses and income. She most certainly liked what she saw, especially the accounts handled in the normal world. Hobbes hadn't been kidding when he mentioned the interest rates.

"You've got businesses in the medical and food industries," Christie had told him, a grin touching her face as she turned the page. "And someone was smart enough to put a bid into the gambling and Adult Industry in the normal world." The boy had flushed at that, even vowed to get rid of it, though she'd smacked the idea from his head at once. "Are you crazy? Do you see how much profit you'd lose?"

Harry also had quite a few homes around the globe, though the only one that caught her attention was the one on a familiar Australian Beach that some fights were held on in the Dead or Alive Tournaments. His partnerships were also well in hand. All in all, Christie surmised that he wouldn't need to step in until his adult years, making him breathe a sigh of relief. "That gives me time to learn everything," he'd frowned, rubbing his head.

Another thing that Christie did for him was get his laptop enchanted; the action was actually illegal, though only in England; globally, other magical places often found ways to get around their technological disabilities and tended to work in tandem with the normal world. Regardless, the Goblins had been more than happy to help set Harry up to his family businesses for a fee. He'd been stunned when she'd showed him it, though he'd took the explanation of it being prominent and growing worldwide to heart. He'd also groaned as he realized that he needed to learn about technology, considering he didn't know a thing about the internet.

"It's called Scryers," Christie corrected him, pointing out the icon of a crystal ball. "This connects you to the web. Your web address is part of Wizit," this had the icon of an owl.

"This is how you send out e-rather, s-mail?" He wondered. She nodded.

"And your Wizit address is here." She pointed to the name. "This is your business address, Potter-Industries at yahoo dot UK.* Gringotts has already sent you a message, see?" Indeed they had. Clicking it slowly, still quite unfamiliar with the touch screen properties, Harry read the message left for him.

_Lord Potter,_

_Congratulations on your connection to Scryers, the number one industry in the magical world. We at Gringotts extend a warm welcome to our valued customers. Included in this message is a list of benefits being globally connected can bring, including branches of banks we have worldwide. We hope to be your bank provider for a long time._

_Sincerely,_

_Hobbes  
_

_Manager of Potter Accounts, UK Gringotts_

"To browse the web you should choose Point Me; it's the best browser…" Christie had sat in Harry's room with her own laptop, installing her own programs and making him follow on his. Though frustrated at the slowness of his typing, he'd vowed to get his fingers as fast as the assassin's, who could type, talk and not look at the page without making a mistake. "It'll take you some time, but I'm sure you can do it, Harry."

After getting their laptops enchanted, Christie decided she'd procrastinated enough and did the same for her phone. Harry bore witness to it ringing constantly, though Christie turned it on vibrate every time she walked through the magical world. "Shouldn't you just answer it?" He wondered as it rang for the fourth time in five minutes. Hanging it up as she'd done millions of times already, the woman sent him a sharp look.

"You don't answer stalkers, Harry."

Unfortunately, Harry finished his homework in record timing, and he really did need to prepare for school. Unfortunately for him, Christie wasn't as…lenient as she'd been when he'd splurged his money in the normal world, said woman often giving her opinion on what he wished to buy. The first time it happened had been in a miscellaneous junk shop, where he'd found a set to a game he liked.

"Gobstones?" Christie deadpanned. "You want a set of solid gold Gobstones?"

"Hey!" He protested hotly. "Gobstones is a fun game!"

"And how many times do you play it a year?" She questioned. "Is it worth it to buy a set of golden Gobstones, or are you buying them because you can?" He opened his mouth, thought about it, and closed it again in a grudging pout. "I rest my case." However, that had only been one case to rest, and many had propped up over the week. Having reminded him that he was getting a private tutor, Christie had forced him to choose some classes he wanted to get rid of and think of how to replace them.

"It's a useless course," she explained, a perfectly sculpted ball model of the galaxy held in her hand. The planets enlarged when you said their name, then showed the data of what was on said planet. How many moons, the gravity level; it even showed and gave information on constellations! "With this, you won't need to take Astronomy anymore, which means you can take a night class off."

He'd finally seen reason after that, though the fight for useful and worthless items continued on daily. Perhaps the worst thing he'd gawked at, at least in her eyes, had been the brooms on display in Quality Quidditch Supplies. She didn't understand his fascination with them, but apparently the other children, and not a few adults, were of the same mind. "It's not worth it," she impatiently explained when he tried to buy it. For Circe's sake, the damn thing didn't even have a price listed it was so high!

"But it's a good broom!" Harry snapped, defensiveness in his stance and tone.

"It's a broom," Christie countered, unfazed by the scandalous looks other Quidditch fans shot her. This wasn't their conversation. "Haven't we already gone over the merits of real sports over Quidditch?" He deflated slightly, though still had a flush look as he turned back to ogle the display.

"Y-yeah, but-"

"So you mean to say," she continued, "that you'd rather spend your money on a broom then something useful. Like, I don't know, your tutor?" She sent him an unimpressed look of scorn. "Maybe wait for the tutor to give you a list of what you need? You also need more items for your _notebook_ and your other school supplies." She never called his laptop a laptop in public. "Just because you have money doesn't mean you should unnecessarily spend it, especially when you don't know how much you're getting back from your businesses." He flinched at her caustic tone.

"Are you implying that I'm going to sink my fortune by being an idiot?" He wondered. Christie nodded sagely, making him sag. In the end, Harry decided not to buy the broom, as even he admitted the price was ridiculous; though that certainly didn't stop him from trying to look at it everyday.

Another thing that Christie had to force the issue on was Harry's appearance, which he felt only needed to extend to clothes. "No, no, no," the assassin shook her head in disbelief. "What good are clothes if your glasses ruin everything? Thick, clunky, obviously broken a million times-"

"Okay, okay, I get it!" He tossed his hands in the air, exasperated. Regardless of his grumbling, Christie scheduled him an appointment with a Mediwitch, who had been more than eager to make a social visit from St. Mungos to The Leaky Cauldron. Healer Edison had been surprised that Harry could even see her when she came in, making annoyed sounds as she waved her wand over him. After a long while of muttering, she'd given him a prescription to take to an Eye-Witch, also carving runes over his eyes at Christie's encouragement.

"The procedure lasts for nearly three months," Edison explained to Harry as she ran her wand over his lids. "You'll get a few headaches here and there as the magic settles in, but by the end of it your sight will be all the better, dear." Thankfully, Christie didn't have to hold his hand through the trip to get him some glasses, instead focusing on her Occlumency as the days began to wind down.

Though she didn't want to admit it, Christie was nervous. Today was the day she had been waiting for, finally and irrevocably here. She thought she did a good job on hiding her state of mind and only realized she failed when Harry asked her what was wrong. He looked a lot better with his new round glasses, which apparently had night vision as he'd told her with a beaming smile.

"Nothing's wrong," she told him moodily, dragging her feet and completely ruining the illusion she was trying to uphold. "Just that I'm meeting my cousin today." His eyes went wide.

"Your cousin? But, didn't you say-?"

"Yes," she interrupted tiredly. "My family are rather bigoted and they look down on me a lot, but my cousin never has. She had her own problems to deal with, problems that most Pure-blooded females have to deal with." A sniff left her nose as he continued to look at her in interest; She was letting her mood rule the conversation. "What's the last shop?" She questioned airily.

"...Flourish and Blotts," he stated after a moment, wanting to continue his questioning but unsure of her mood. Despite spending time with her, and his constant reasoning that she _must_ be a bodyguard, he was still rather wary of the gun she kept on her. "I have to get my school books." The two walked there in silence, Christie avoiding people absently as they walked. When they reached the shop she couldn't stop her lips from curling in distaste as she eyed the books on display.

The books were _fighting_, savagely tearing each other apart and growling at everything. Instead of separating them, the haggard looking manager merely let them be, apparently deciding that the loss of money on the books were worth less than the scars he'd get for moving them. "Oh wow," she muttered as the man came over, "the magical world gets stupider everyday."

"Hey!" Harry wrinkled his nose at her. "My friend Hagrid sent me this book for my birthday," he gestured to the books, The Monster Book of Monsters, wincing as two began to gang up on another. "That was…" He coughed. "T-that was _thoughtful_ of him."

"And have you read it?" Christie questioned dryly, ignoring the manager's relief to hear that he didn't have to open the cage. At Harry's sulky negative, she shook her head in annoyance. "Did it ever occur to you to ask this Hagrid how you open it, runt?" He flushed darkly, silently giving his answer to all that overheard. "Logic, common sense; I've said it before, I'll say it again; most magical people lack it." She gestured rudely to the clerk. "I bet it never occurred to him to ask whoever shipped the books how you get them to settle down, so don't feel bad about not thinking it yourself."

"Why I never…" The man muttered.

"Never thought?" She questioned loudly, making his face scrunch up as he resisted the urge to talk back to a customer. Breathing in deeply through her nose, Christie forced herself to stop projecting her bad mood on others. "Go on and get your books, Harry."

"Er, right." He nodded to himself, turning to the silently seething clerk and missing Christie's warning glare at the man. "I need Unfogging the Future by Cassandra Vablatsky."

"Starting Divination, are you?" He questioned stiltedly, gesturing them to follow him.

"Divination?" Christie blinked, staring at Harry in disbelief. He nervously shifted under her gaze as she frowned. "That's funny, I didn't catch you making any references to the future."

"What do you mean?" The question caused her eyes to narrow, making him flinch in preparation.

"Have you ever had any inclination to take Divination?" She questioned. "Is this a hobby thing or are you actually planning to get into it?"

"Uh…" Harry shifted and looked about, avoiding her eyes nervously. "I…just want to see if the class is for me?" He winced again at her unimpressed look, before defensively puffing himself up. "Is something wrong with it?"

"Is something-?!" Christie cut herself off, tossing her hands in the air as her patience eroded. "Did none of your teachers explain it to you?!" From his blank expression, that was most likely the case. The white haired woman resisted the urge to take out her gun and shoot something, but only just, as she counted backwards from ten. She had to extend it to a full minute as Harry continued to look at her ignorantly; _The quality of magic people diminishes every year!_ "It's one thing if you're joining because you're interested," she explained impatiently, her tone quite telling of what she thought about the quality of magical education. "But being a Seer or a True Divinator is not something you can learn, you have to have been _born_ with it."

"How do you know if you're born with it then?" Harry wondered, a bit of a whine in his voice at the knowledge he should have known.

"Déjà vu," Christie lectured sharply, getting attention of a few normal people in the store. "If it seems like you've had too many days that are like one you remembered already having, or if you say things you really shouldn't know before someone else says them a lot, you are an untrained Divinator. If you have moments when you're doing something, only to lose a few minutes in a blink and don't recall how or why, there's a chance of you being a Seer."

The wizards, witches and normal people stared at her with wide eyes, making her scoff at their disbelief. "I use to be interested in it. At any rate, if you're really into Divination even knowing you have no true ability, then you'll have to buy things like Tarot Cards, Crystal Balls, Astronomy Charts, Zodiac Charts, Dream Catchers and the like, then study omens and prophecies quite a bit." She sighed as he blinked in surprise. "If you really have the talent then you can become an Sage or an Oracle, otherwise it's not worth the extra studying."

"Well, I'm not really interested in that stuff," Harry confessed sheepishly. "And I don't have it as a hobby, either. Although, how I'm going to explain all these class drops to Professor McGonagall is beyond me." He scratched at his cheek.

"Simple; you write her a letter and tell her that you can't take certain classes anymore as you've come into your Lordship and need tutoring for your future." Christie sniffed. "What other classes are you taking? Let's cross out the useless ones now so you don't waste your money on useless books. And you," she pointed to the clerk, who jumped at being remembered. "An owl order catalog, please." As he went off to get it, Harry revealed his school list, grumbling under his breath.

"Shouldn't I have done this before doing my homework?" He mumbled snidely.

"Give your unneeded homework to your tutor so they can grade your skills, runt," she stated, getting a disgruntled look that wouldn't have fazed a puppy. "Now, classes?"

"Potions," he began with a hopeful note, then scowled when she said nothing against it. "Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology-"

"A currently useless course," she interrupted. "While you may someday need to know about the plants you could come across in travel, many of them will only be found in the wild or in special greenhouses that cater to them, and the ones you really need to know you can learn at a later date. Thus, you can get rid of the course. Unless you plan on becoming something that extensively uses that knowledge?"

"No," he stated. "Then again, I don't plan on being a Potions Master either." Once again, there was a hopeful note to his voice.

"Potions is a good subject," Christie raised her brow, pretending not to hear the tone; if he wouldn't say it, she wouldn't fish for it. She was not above letting people suffer in silence. "Especially for a young lord to take; you don't know how many people would love to poison you for your money, so it's good to learn cures and counters to such attacks. Also, you may wish to make a Will just in case, or the ministry can take over your assets." He gave a grim sigh.

"Okay, okay…" He muttered something nasty under his breath. "Where was I? Herbology, History of Magic; that one's useless. It's just a bunch of Goblin Wars taught by a boring ghost."

"Scrap it."

"Those are the main classes." He frowned thoughtfully, scratching names from his list as the clerk came back with an owl order catalog. "Elective courses are The Study of Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Muggle Studies, Care of Magical Creatures and Divination."

"Runes and Arithmancy," she suggested at once. "Runes work great with Enchantments and are the driving force behind our _notebooks_ being able to work, whereas Arithmancy is another form of Divination, but it works more for construction, spell creation and the magic of ley line energy." His brow rose in interest. "No, don't ask; I haven't studied it in years." She waved the words away, much to his disappointment. "You'll learn it in school, anyway. As for Care of Magical Creatures, I suppose it wouldn't be a bad idea either, considering you'll have to do some traveling in the future. It'll be good to know what types of dangerous beasts are out there and how to safely avoid them or get out of danger should you come across them or they you." Nodding, he crossed the others out of the list, then frowned.

"Runes and The Care of Magical Creatures are at the same time."

"Then have them pencil you into another class," Christie responded airily. He nodded and wrote it down. "Do they have extra curricular classes?"

"Um…Ancient Studies, Art, Muggle Art, Music, Muggle Music and Ghoul Studies."

"Useless wizards," she snorted, getting a look of outrage from a passing family. "Ancient Studies is a useless course; it's a history class that focuses on old magic, but they don't let you practice it. You'd be better off learning it on your own. Ghoul Studies is the study of the undead, how they come to be and why they're here. It's another useless course, as Necromancy is illegal and so is Exorcism, as it's a form of Necromancy."

"Then why have the course?" Harry questioned in surprise, then he hit his head. "No wait, stupid question. Illogically acting, common sense lacking, magical London troupe."

"Now you're getting it." A smirk lit her lips at his words. "As for Art and Music, I'd advise taking the magical courses if you chose either since you're planning on staying here. They basically use the same tools as the normal course with the difference of teaching you spells to make pictures move and instruments that aren't in the normal world. Either one is good to learn."

"I think I'd prefer music," Harry murmured, crossing out the other courses. "I wonder if we can choose what instrument we want to learn?"

"You should be able to," Christie noted. "After all, you are paying for your education. Now, go get your books." As he handed his new list over to the clerk, who had a full book-list of what students needed every year and could help him with classes he didn't know of, Christie decided to roam the store. Reading was a pleasure to her, though it wasn't often that she chose to read the magical kind. As her eyes caught the titles, she recalled why.

**Ten Ways to Fool a Muggle Without Ministry Detection,** was the title of the first book she laid her eyes on.** Muggles and Squibs-A Pure-blood's Guide To,** was the next. Both books made normal people seem like a bunch of primitive animals, with the first book introducing a game called _Muggle Baiting_. Everything within the book was legal, too. A bit of shame passed through her, recalling the days when she had thought such things were amazing, when she'd been eager to get to Hogwarts and show people why Pure-bloods were better.

Such a naïve child she'd been.

Awhile later, the duo made their way out of the store, heading to The Leaky Cauldron with their purchases in hand. Neither spoke, each lost in thoughts and Harry excused himself to his room the moment they entered, needing to write a letter to let the school know about his new choices for the year. Christie chose to sit in the middle of the room as per her want, feeling familiar feelings of anxiety course through her as the day finally settled.

Though she had been able to ignore it for a time, she had not forgotten that her cousin was meeting her soon. With a sigh, Christie cleared her mind, allowing her body's senses to tell her if something went wrong as she brought up buried memories of her cousin. Back then, her older cousin Wanda had been her inspiration. Long golden locks, a shapely figure, strong magic and a personality to match, she was the only girl who actually spoke to Christie as though she were a normal person. Despite that, she had her own problems and couldn't often see her younger and less talented cousin.

Wanda's mother, her cruel and sadistic Aunt Leslie, had been pressuring her to get married, to take on another man's name and become _"the perfect, Pure-bred wife."_ For the independent Wanda that had been a big insult, and she constantly complained to her younger cousin about the horrors of being the perfect wife.

"_It's just horrid!"_ She use to say. _"I won't be able to get a job, I'll have to rely on him for money, clothes, food and mother even says she'll disown me if I don't marry!"_ Unfortunately for Wanda, the age came for her to finally be married, and Leslie hadn't allowed her to fight for long. Finally tired of her daughter's wild ways, Leslie had given her an ultimatum at the age of nineteen; to marry a man of stature or to lose her family name. Proud, strong, and already having a job that her mother didn't know about, Wanda had taken her leave and never looked back.

Christie had been ten at the time and the loss of the one family member that had treated her like a human had taken its toll on her. Not to mention Leslie had begun to harp on her, encouraging her mother to disown her, chipping away at her self-esteem, constantly comparing her to her sister and finding her lacking until Christie had finally had enough of it and ran away. Idly, she wondered if she would have continued to put up with magical England if Wanda had stayed.

For the first time in years, Christie was glad for the abandonment.

Buzzing conversation made grey eyes slowly open as Christie brought herself back to the world. A gaggle of men stood by the fireplaces, roaring with laughter and praise, some women at the bar shooting dark looks their way. From the middle of the crowd broke a smiling woman, with long golden curls shaping an attractive, aristocratic face. Bright green eyes searched the crowd as she adjusted her skirts, focusing on Christie after a short moment.

"Oh," her lilted voice stretched through the room as she put a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening in surprise. "Oh, oh!" Her heeled shoes clicked on the floor as she unsteadily removed herself from the crowd. Almost hesitantly, Christie stood from her chair, self-consciously smoothing down her shirt. Phantom feelings of inadequacy raced through her mind and she forcefully shoved them away. She was an adult now; a successful adult. She'd had her fair share of admirers, from men to women, young to old, and she was proud of what she'd accomplished and how she was.

But she adjusted her jeans anyway.

Wanda enveloped her at once, ignoring the outbursts of whispers that ignited as she sniffled. "Oh, I've missed you so much Xio-!"

"Christie," she interrupted roughly, her face flinching. Drawing back, she eyed her cousin once more, noticing she wore a bashful look from the reprimand.

"Christie," Wanda amended. An awkward moment later, both girls were seated, the elder having ordered a drink from Tom that Christie denied. Green eyes greedily drank the assassin in, making her slightly uncomfortable, though she hid it by crossing her hands under her nose to hide her lips. "I haven't seen you in fourteen years," Wanda broke their silence with a hint of an Irish lilt in her tone, taking a sip of Firewhiskey. "You've grown into a beautiful woman."

"Thank you," Christie stated curtly, wishing she'd had the foresight to get her own drink. "You're as pretty as always, Wanda." Wanda shuddered at her name, a look of disgust on her face.

"Ugh, I haven't been called that in a long time."

"You finally got married then?" Christie wondered, a bit surprised at the thought.

"Absolutely not!" Golden curls flew as she shook her head, before a bit of a bitter smile crossed her lips. "After I got…disowned," she shot a few glances around the room, "I changed me name. After all, who wants to remain named by _Leslie?_" She barely managed to control the hatred on her face, before she let it bleed out of her with a sigh. "I go by Rosmerta these days; Madam Rosmerta. Me boss gave it to me. You remember Bailey, don't you?"

"How could I not?" Christie murmured darkly. He'd hired Wanda, rather, _Rosmerta_ on sight those many years ago, claiming that she had a certain charisma and flair. He'd also constantly stopped by to visit said woman to _check up on her._ "Your sixth boyfriend, the owner of The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade." Bailey, who use to sneer at her in distaste, telling her not to bother her cousin so much as she was a grown up.

"You never did like him," Rosmerta mused with a smile. "Anyway, he died and left me the shop quite some time ago. It's about the only good thing I can say about the ponce these days." A look of regret crossed her face. "He left me with a lot of bills and ran off with some young chit. Fortunately for me, he died before he could change the Will in a Death Eater attack." She lifted her glass in a toast, making Christie snort in amusement. "These days, all of me bills are caught up and the inn is very popular." A dark look suddenly crossed her face. "And I heard about _you_, of course."

"Don't start," Christie warned her, her eyes narrowing. "But feel free to tell me how you all found out."

"One of auntie's friends saw you and told her about it," Rosmerta stated dryly, a pinched look coming to her face. "He saw one of your-your _shows._"

"My shows?" Christie questioned blandly, hiding her confusion behind a mask of indifference. What show was she talking about now? And what did a show have to do with assassination? A reluctant flush settled on Rosmerta's face, highlighting her face attractively.

"You were at a Muggle bar called The Cocktail," she hissed. "Table dancing like some sort of-of…" Whatever she said was lost to the white haired assassin, who had lapsed into shock. Christie's mind was furiously trying to recall the first letter that had been sent to her from her older sister, painstakingly remembering the little details that she had apparently missed in her anger at being found. Her sister had said...she'd said that the family was disappointed at her occupation, that they thought her better than that, that such a business was deplorable...

Her family thought that she was a stripper.

Her _family_ thought that _she_ was a _stripper._

Christie felt her face flush slowly as Rosmerta's mouth continued to move, the sound being lost in the sheer…_disbelief_ that was coursing through her. The Cocktail had been a bar that Milo, a growing in power mobster that had encroached on another man's territory, had been frequenting. She still recalled that mission as it was the first assassination that she'd accepted after the failure of the Dead or Alive Tournaments. She'd posed as an exotic dancer to get close enough to kill him, and to have a bit of fun if she were truthfully honest. Afterwards she had stolen all the clips of her being there, paid off the workers to keep the incident quiet, and went on her merry way.

_Her family thought that she was a stripper!_

Suddenly, Christie tilted her head back and laughed hysterically, cutting Rosmerta's ranting off. Flustered, the blonde glared at her, though she couldn't get her laughter under control. A stripper; a _stripper_! Someone had to have been laughing uproariously upstairs, because surely she hadn't come back to the magical world because of a misunderstanding? "Oh, my stomach," she groaned, trying to stop laughing, only to burst into giggles at Rosmerta's affronted look.

"This isn't funny, Christie!"

"No, no!" She laughed again at the indignant tone. "It's not funny at all!" It was sad, annoying, deplorable and it was making her very angry. She'd been planning to meet her family again, assured that they knew she was deadly, dangerous, independent, _equal!_ And they thought she was a _stripper!_ "I think I'm going to cry," she gasped out, placing her head on the table as her shoulders continued to shake with laughter. They were probably still looking down their noses at her, thinking they were better than her, judging her by a false career and thinking she needed money.

They hadn't paid her because they knew she loved money, they paid her because they thought she was _desperate_ for it!

For the first time since she'd gotten there, Christie felt the nagging guilt that had plagued her decision fade away. After all, she had taken the money from her mother and then didn't even bother to tell her that she wasn't going to show up, instead visiting the only family member that had never looked down on her, only to be looked down on! Irony, cruel, cruel irony! "I'm not-_ha!_-not a table dancer!" The muffled words left her arms as she forced the laughter to calm, not bringing her head up as she felt real tears soaking her hand.

She hadn't cried in years.

"Then why did aunty say you needed money so badly?" Rosmerta questioned hotly. "I sent you-"

"Just shut up, _Wanda_!" She snapped, peeking through her arms to reveal blurry eyes. "For fucks sake, _just shut up_!" Slowly, Christie sat up and wiped her tears, hoping that she had passed them off as tears of laughter, before she forced her heaving chest and raging anger to calm. Screaming and ranting wouldn't get her anywhere, even if she was very, _very_ tempted to reach over the table and just squeeze the life out of her cousin. "I should have known something was up," she mused tiredly. "And, for your information, I took the money because I like it; don't expect it to be given back."

"Christie-"

"I'm not a table dancer," she continued quietly. "I was there that day on an undercover mission, but the details of that are private." She really did sound like some sort of officer. A bitter chuckle left her throat as she realized that _Harry_ had more respect for her than her own _family_. "I can't believe I was stupid enough to come here," she continued, rubbing her hands down her face. "Stupid enough to come here with hopes that I would finally get some respect instead of being treated like the lowest of Squibs."

"I've never treated you like a Squib," Rosmerta gaped at her in shock. "Never!"

"How nice of you," Christie sneered, her pleasant facade finally dropping. "And the rest of the family?"

"Aunty has always loved you," she stated firmly, reaching across the table to grab her hand. "Weak magic, a Squib; aunty never thought any less of you."

"Is that what she tells you?" Christie wondered, jerking her hand back and finally giving into the childish urge to wipe it. A hurt look crossed the blonde's face.

"She doesn't have to say it; I was over your house practically everyday!"

"Until you got your job," the assassin hissed, making her flinch at the dark tone. "Then you had to finish your last years of school and work during the holidays, right? You only came back a few days out of the summer, and how much did you pay attention to me then?" She rubbed at her head, feeling a migraine finally punishing her for her laughing fit. "You had your own problems, remember? Leslie wanted you to marry some boy, Bailey was your new boyfriend, you were a legal adult; how much did you actually pay attention to the family shame?"

"But...aunty is a good person," she continued almost desperately.

"To _you_ she was!" Christie snapped angrily, lowering her voice as a few people looked over. "Perfect, beautiful and _successful_ Wanda, smart, a Ravenclaw, magically powerful; You may as well have just called her _mother_ for all the time you spent together. But then little Miss Perfect leaves and all that's left is her weak blood daughter, shameful, untalented, lacking everything that _you_ had." Rosmerta looked down to her forgotten drink, her face hidden by her bangs. "You weren't there when everyone would compare me to you," Christie continued bitterly, cursing her voice for breaking like she was some teenager going through puberty. "You weren't there when Leslie would stop by to belittle and degrade me, when my mother and father stood aside and _let_ her.

"You weren't there when they looked down their noses at me at the breakfast table, speaking slowly as though I didn't understand what they were saying because I barely had magic. You weren't there when they forgot my birthdays, when they stopped doing magic in front of me as though I were some delicate piece of glass that would break at seeing something so _wonderful!"_ She took a deep breath, feeling angry tears pool in the corner of her eyes. "So don't you _dare_ give me some worthless little pep talk when you don't know a damn thing about me or my situation!"

"I didn't know!" Rosmerta gasped out, looking up from her drink with desperation in her eyes. "I didn't know! _I didn't know!"_

"You saw it!" Christie snapped, interrupting her protests. "You just chose to ignore it, just like you did with every other problem in your life!" Silence stretched between them at the harsh words, with Rosmerta looking rather shocked and miserable. Christie forced her breathing to calm, cursing her eyes for stinging and her limbs for shaking as she buried her head in her hands. Why, oh why, did Rosmerta's words hurt her so much? Didn't know? She had seen it; everyone had seen the way she had been treated, but none of them had ever stood up for her. That she had the nerve to deny it-! "...This was pointless," the assassin mumbled, looking up at her remorseful cousin blankly. "I don't even know why I bothered." Why had she hoped? That stupid, stupid hope that her family would _see_ her for once; not as a blight, not as a shame, but as someone equally as powerful, as respected...Swallowing, she stood from her seat. "This was so pointless..."

"No, wait!" Green eyes were surprised that the turning woman had actually stopped, though Christie's attention wasn't on her cousin any longer, instead on the frowning black haired teen that was eyeing the two from the table behind them. Harry blinked owlishly, a bit guilty to be caught eavesdropping, though he held up the letter he had been working on for Minerva McGonagall. "Christie, please...?" Rosmerta placed a hand on her shoulder, before freezing at the sight of the boy that stared at them guiltily.

"How long have you been here, runt?" Christie whispered, hating the vulnerable shake in her voice.

"For quite some time," he admitted softly, giving a small shrug and ignoring the slight to his name. "Long enough to know you were undercover for something; does that mean you really are a police officer then?"

"You may as well say I'm an undercover agent of a sort," she confessed with a wet huff, putting the palms of her hands to her eyes to ebb the hot flood of tears that began trailing down her face.

"Christie, please," Rosmerta choked, feeling miserable. "I'm so sorry-"

"I have to go to my room for a minute," Christie continued miserably, not looking at either of them as the tears broke through her voice. "Straighten up a bit. Do you mind?"

"Not at all," Harry peered at her in concern, shooting a glare to Rosmerta as she opened her mouth to protest. "I'll wait here for you."

"Thank you." With quick steps, the assassin made her way to her room, leaving the two strangers in an awkward silence. After a moment, Rosmerta sat at the table with him, a stubborn set to her jaw.

"I'm not leaving," she stated, almost daring him to complain as she raised her chin.

"You don't have to," Harry pointed out snidely. "I can always get up and leave myself." She blushed at the logic, making a rather nasty smirk touch his lips. Regardless of his words, he went back to ignoring her, instead pretending to go over his letter again. He had lied when he told Christie how long he'd been sitting behind her, as the woman didn't know about the useful Invisibility Cloak that he had. In fact, he had been there since the very beginning, having hoped to hear something, _anything_ that told him that the lady he'd been traveling with had been wrong about the magical world.

But the pain in her voice had been very real.

For the first time in a long time, Harry felt a hot stab of guilt pierce through him, recalling when Neville Longbottom had told him about his treatment in his family. It had been so funny then, hearing what sorts of things magical people did to their children, but it had been a willfully blind sort of funny. After all, he certainly hadn't found it amusing when his own family had done horrid things to him, a family that was being sued for child abuse. Abuse…

"Merlin," Harry muttered, feeling his throat clog up. Christie's story sounded a lot like Neville's, but whereas his chubby dorm mate had braved the pressure and gone to Hogwarts, suffering through the humiliation daily, Christie hadn't been able to bear it. He wondered if that made her a Slytherin, being too cowardly to face her problems, or if that simply made her a smart person for getting out of the problems. Year after year, failure after failure; no wonder she was so bitter.

In the beginning, Christie had strongly reminded him of Petunia with her strong hatred of magic, until he realized how truly different they were. Petunia had lied to him about magic, hating it so much that she didn't even want him to learn it, even if she wanted to get rid of him. She hadn't once stepped foot in the magical world to help him, would probably smack him for the suggestion, and had even gone so far as to steal from him.

Christie had, on the other hand, made her hatred of magic quite clear. No, not magic; magical people. Christie knew far too much about magic to hate it as much as she claimed, but she didn't trust a single magical person, not even him. Despite her hatred of his kind, she hadn't lied to him, had helped him even, and the money she did spend on him she had made quite clear that she expected a full return. Christie had seemed so confident when he met her, walking around in revealing undergarments, unmindful of the stares, challenging him, Tom and even Minister Fudge without fail.

But when Rosmerta had caught her eye, she'd nervously tugged on her clothing, as though judging the both of them and finding herself…lacking. Harry could understand that, could understand the heartbreaking pain of looking at someone and deeming yourself unworthy, every shortcoming going through your mind even though you tried to believe in yourself. But this woman, Rosmerta, had been someone she'd been compared to daily, someone her own family had pegged superior; it was a natural response.

Harry looked up as the chair beside him was pulled out, a blank faced Christie sitting elegantly at once. She'd composed herself quite well; one couldn't even tell that she'd been crying.

Said woman was withholding a scowl as he stared knowingly at her, her fingers itching to grab a sharp knife, a gun, a wire, _anything_ to kill the entire episode. She had indeed shed a few tears, though she'd stemmed them rather quickly and took a few pills to combat the incoming migraine. The situation was not what she'd been expecting, but at least it was in her favor; she could always make it in her favor.

"Rosmerta," Christie began at once, making her stubborn looking cousin jump. "This is Lord Potter, a friend. Harry, my cousin Rosmerta." Rosmerta's eyes widened slightly as she sent a sharp gaze to Harry, rather, his scar, before a flush touched her face as she recalled trying to challenge his authority over seating. Harry nodded to her wordlessly, too afraid to open his mouth at the moment as he swallowed down the burning pain in his throat.

"G-greetings, Lord Potter," Rosmerta stuttered. "Um, Christie, can we talk in private for a moment?"

"No," she denied her, getting a hurt look in return. "I'm still rather pissed right now," Christie continued darkly, "and I won't be held accountable for the injuries you'll receive if you piss me off even further." She paused, before sighing heavily. "If you do me a few favors, however, I will agree to keep a correspondence with you." Her face soured at that, though Rosmerta perked up hopefully.

"Anything!" She agreed almost desperately. Christie resisted the urge to smile in satisfaction; foolish magical woman.

"One, don't tell anyone where we meet." Green eyes immediately looked stricken.

"Christie-"

"I won't budge on this," Christie warned her. After a few moments, Rosmerta gave a sullen nod. "You can tell my mother and sister that they're wrong about me," her (shaking) hands clenched under the table. "But you can't tell them when we've met, where we meet or anything else that gives them a clue as to where I am."

"Okay," Rosmerta mumbled reluctantly.

"Two, Harry needs a tutor for quite a few lessons, someone who can go to Hogwarts and not brag to the news about it." Harry looked slightly surprised at being brought up, before he turned an inquiring look to the blonde.

"What types of lessons?" She wondered curiously.

"History, etiquette, Latin, law and business," she answered promptly. "He's dropping quite a few courses to do this and, of course, will pay you for your time. Can you do this?" After a long moment, and a glance to a patiently waiting Harry, a slow nod was given.

"I'll have to get his schedule situated with his professors," she spoke hesitantly. "Um, you do know that aunty and cousin Bee are professors in Hogwarts, right, Christie?" A tightening around the eyes was her answer.

"You can take his letter to Hogwarts then," Christie muttered sourly. "And hand Harry his schedule when it's done; he'll be staying here until school. Also, he'll need your school list to buy his supplies; he has an owl order catalog if you need a few more days."

"Right," Rosmerta nodded weakly.

"And finally, you keep your mouth shut when it comes to Harry's business; if even a hint of what he's doing makes it to the news from your mouth, you'll regret it." Christie narrowed her eyes, getting a much weaker nod of agreement from the older girl. Smugness radiated from the assassin as she turned to Harry. "Alright then, let's write that letter."


End file.
